Italian Masquerade
by Silbrith
Summary: Mozzie's latest scheme could derail Neal and Sara's plans for the winter holiday. December 2005. Travel: Rome, Florence, Venice. Fluff: Christmas, New Year's Eve
1. Surprise Package

_Notes: This story takes place after the events in Cloister of Secrets and Night Music. I wrote a short summary of the status of the key players at the beginning of the story for our blog: Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation. The post is called "Prelude to Italian Masquerade." See the notes at the end of the chapter for more information._

* * *

**Chapter 1: Surprise Package**

**June's Mansion. December 12, 2005. Monday evening. **

The octopus edged ever closer. Its tentacles coiled around Neal's arms in a stranglehold from which there was no escape. He was doomed.

"Having fun?" Mozzie asked, walking into the living room.

Neal surveyed gloomily the piles of tangled Christmas lights encircling him on the floor. "_Fun_ isn't the word I would have chosen."

Mozzie crouched next to him. "June's house is already decorated for Christmas. What are these for?"

"She decided that since her daughter's family will be spending Christmas with her, she'd like to have the staircase banister decorated as well. She told me there were extra lights in the attic. What June neglected to mention was that her three-year-old granddaughter Samantha must have put them away."

Mozzie rubbed his hands. "A veritable Gordian knot. I'll take this clump . . . after helping myself to some of June's excellent Bourbon eggnog." He paused. "Lactose-free?"

"Of course."

He proceeded to pour himself a generous amount from the carafe chilling in the ice bucket. "Where is our hostess?"

"She's at the Harlem Jazz Museum board meeting." Neal was glad for the company. He'd put on Christmas music, and June had left a plate of cookies to go with the eggnog, courtesy of Chef Emil, but singing by himself had lost its thrill.

"I thought I'd find you frantically tapping on your laptop. Didn't you tell me your papers are due this week?"

"I decided to take a break from the Impressionists." Neal surveyed the octopus of miniature lights which was once more attempting to devour him. "That may have been a mistake."

"No, it wasn't. You'll fly through the paper after I reenergize your brain cells with Operation Checkmate."

Neal stood up. "I'll require another cookie for that." They were in the final stages of the Clueless con, a conspiracy to keep his dates with Sara a secret from matchmakers Henry and El. Their well-intentioned assistance had not been necessary. Sara provided plenty of sparks without the need for additional help. But since the matchmakers mounted a covert operation, he and Sara decided to make a game of it as well. During the fall months, the cover Neal maintained for a case made it impossible for him to date anyone, at least openly. But that operation was now over, and it was time to wrap up the Clueless con.

Mozzie, Peter, and El were already in the loop, as well as Neal's friends at Columbia and the Arkham Round Table writing group. The final stage of the con—Operation Checkmate—was designed to lead Henry to realize he was being played and give him time to adjust so he could claim victory when Neal and Sara came out. When Sara was transferred to London, the con acquired international dimensions.

"I assume you still want to recreate the scene described in Arkham Files," Mozzie said, dropping a freshly untangled string of lights onto Neal's lap.

"That's essential," he said, wrapping the tamed tentacle around a cardboard tube. "Sara and I invented the con in July. It was her idea to devise a New Year's challenge for Arkham Sara."

"I remember when she suggested it to the Arkham Round Table. I thought it was quite clever. Arkham Neal called Sara a mockingbird because she was a fearless and a tireless investigator—"

"—who never stopped pestering him with questions," Neal added, smiling at the memory. When he returned from Los Angeles, Sara employed a psychological technique that rivaled one of Henry's. By focusing on their Arkham counterparts' issues, she made the obstacles they faced in New York seem less daunting.

"Arkham Sara, who is a singer of abysmally low talent, challenged Neal to teach her to sing 'Mockingbird' so that they'd be able to perform a duet on New Year's Eve. I never heard if our Sara has been duplicating her efforts."

"She has, and I'm happy to report she's not as bad as Arkham Sara, although she swears that's the case. We want the con to wrap up on New Year's Eve with a spectacular party to honor the matchmakers."

"Have you decided where to hold it?" Mozzie asked, deftly unknotting a second string. This was a man, after all, who could solve a Rubik's cube with his feet in thirty seconds, with or without socks.

"Not yet," Neal admitted. "I'm leaving on Sunday for Italy, and Sara's joining me there for Christmas. We first thought of trying to do something in Italy, but arranging for everyone to fly over on our budget . . ." He shrugged. The trip to Italy was designed to take advantage of his end-of-year vacation days. The necessity of a trip was legitimate. He'd decided to write his master's thesis on a family of Italian artists, the Carracci. The trio of two brothers and a cousin were pivotal in the transition between the Renaissance and the Baroque. They reminded Neal of his and Henry's relationship. They straddled legal and illegal worlds and were now transforming the stodgy mindsets of traditional bureaucracies. Or, at least, that was how they viewed it. Sara would meet him in Florence. After Christmas, they'd fly back to New York to have a wrap-up party.

"There's also the problem of taking our friends away from their families," Neal added. "El and Peter plan to spend Christmas in Albany with his parents. Henry's taking Eric to Baltimore."

"It would be a shame to not take advantage of your trip," Mozzie said. "Janet will be in Venice for New Year's Eve. She's friends with an Italian designer who's enlisted her help with costumes for the Diziani Ball. I plan to join her there for the festivities."

The Venetian masked balls which preceded Lent were justly famous, and the Diziani Ball was one of the most elegant. Held on New Year's Eve in a fifteenth-century palace on the canals, it marked the beginning of the Carnival season.

Neal released his hold on the string of lights as party thoughts danced in his head. In view of the disguises he and Sara had used during the Clueless con, a masquerade would be the perfect wrap-up. Perhaps they could find a masked ball in New York they could afford. "I'm sorry you won't be able to attend our coming-out party, but we can hardly compete with Venice."

Mozzie frowned. "And why would you want to?"

"Didn't I just say we couldn't afford to fly everyone to Italy?"

"Tosh," he interrupted, waving a hand draped with lights as if he were a reveler tossing Mardi Gras beads. "This has been an exceptional year what with finder's fees and remuneration for assorted services—not to mention the generosity of Gordon Taylor and the dazzling success of the honey wine business. Let's see . . . we'll need ball tickets and accommodations for you, Sara, the Suit and Mrs. Suit, Henry and Eric, airfare, incidentals. Yes, these are mere trifles."

Neal couldn't believe his ears. Mozzie sometimes called himself Neal's guardian angel. He was now transforming into fairy godmother status, and not just for him but Sara as well. "That's exceptionally generous of you, but I couldn't possibly—"

"Of course you could. For the U-boat con, you and Sara tricked us all with your Harlequin and Columbine act. Even though you didn't know it, you were setting the seeds for Venice by choosing figures from the commedia dell'arte. It may have been because of that Degas painting you forged of the couple that Janet was inspired to write to her friend."

Neal smiled as he pictured the couples in gondolas. He and Henry had fond memories of the Venetian resort in Las Vegas during their time on the road. Several times they'd tried unsuccessfully to be hired as gondoliers. Henry needed to experience the real Venice.

"Your U-boat masquerade deserves to be rewarded," Mozzie continued. "Janet will be able to arrange for bargain rates for the costumes. I'm not without contacts in the airline and hotel industries. Do you think June would like to attend?"

"I'm sure she would, but she's already made arrangements to take her family skiing in Aspen after Christmas."

"When she hears she'll miss the party of the century, she may change her mind. Still to be determined is how to con Henry and Eric to be in Venice at the correct time. I have some ideas in mind. With a little more application of eggnog, I'll have even more."

"How will I ever be able to repay you?"

"Oh I'm sure we'll think of something," Mozzie said airily, his face assuming the look of someone who was bursting with more news. Neal felt the ground shift. Was that quicksand under his feet?

"You need more eggnog," Mozzie declared, standing up. "I should spike it with an additional dollop of bourbon."

Definitely quicksand. "Have pity, Mozz. I still need to work on that paper tonight. Is there something you want to tell me?"

"Well, since you asked . . ." He refilled Neal's glass from the carafe in the ice bucket. By the amount of whiskey he added, this exchange of favors could be one for the record books. "And as long as you're going to be in Italy anyway . . . You remember my contact at the Vatican library, Luchino Borroni?"

Neal nodded warily as the quicksand rose to his waist. Would Mozzie bring up the Vatican's secret vault? He was a fervent believer even though the Vatican vehemently denied its existence.

"Luchino heard rumors of an original Dante manuscript." Mozzie's face assumed a beatific expression. For a collector of rare manuscripts, discovering an authentic Dante was the equivalent to finding the Holy Grail. There were no known autograph examples of his handwriting—not even his signature—in the world.

"That's why you're going to Italy!"

He shrugged. "Janet's plans were already made. We'll simply arrive a little earlier."

"We?"

"I know you wouldn't want me to break into a Mafia kingpin's house on my own." Before Neal could say anything, he added, "You'll be in Italy anyway. Consider this a small diversion. And weren't you just saying you didn't know how to thank me?" He smiled happily. "Problem solved!"

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

"Neal, this is exceptionally generous of you," Peter said once he realized his consultant wasn't joking. "New Year's in Venice does indeed sound spectacular, but we couldn't possibly let you pay our way." Peter knew Neal planned to make a big splash for Henry on New Year's Eve, perhaps a dinner party at one of the restaurants or even a bash at one of the music clubs, but nothing like this.

He should have realized something was up when Neal arrived at his office bearing Italian-roast coffee and biscotti. What he didn't understand was why. Neal was presenting him and El with a magnificent all-expenses-paid trip. Why did he feel the additional gesture was necessary? Heightening Peter's suspicion was Neal's discomfort to his expression of thanks. Usually Neal basked at any praise. Not today.

"It's really Mozzie you should thank. He made the offer yesterday evening." Was that a hint of embarrassment in Neal's expression? "He's done very well financially this year."

"And . . .?" With Mozzie, there was always a catch.

"And while we were talking, I realized this would be an excellent opportunity for me to meet with Claudia Gallini."

Claudia was the Italian representative on the Interpol art crimes task force. They'd met her at the get-acquainted meeting in London when the task force was formed. At the time, she'd extended an open-ended invitation for Peter and Neal to visit the Carabinieri headquarters in Rome.

"Why do you want to meet with Claudia?" Peter asked, his unease growing. "I thought this was a study trip to allow you to research your thesis."

Neal took a breath. "Mozzie convinced me that there may be something even more worthwhile pursuing—an original manuscript by Dante. His contact at the Vatican library believes one may be in the possession of a Mafia boss."

"This is why he's paying our way?"

Neal shrugged. "Mozzie's love of Dante may be equal to his passion for wine."

"That high? Then you better give me the details." Peter resolved to temper any mocking remarks. For Neal, this was about as straightforward as it got. Yes, in a perfect world, he would have reported the conversation in a direct manner rather than leading Peter through the back door, but at least Neal was disclosing Mozzie's subterfuge. It was a safe bet that Mozzie wouldn't have.

"What's the name?" Peter asked.

"Gino Nardone. As it happens, I have his file with me." Neal placed the folder on his desk. "I knew you'd like to have something to read while munching on biscotti."

Reminding himself of his pledge, Peter refrained from a sarcastic rejoinder and skimmed the contents of the document. Nardone owned a large estate near Florence. He'd been head of an investment firm but had retired at a relatively young age to manage the vineyards on the property. "Your case has a major issue," Peter noted. "Although there have been a few rumors, there is absolutely no hard evidence that Nardone is involved with the Mafia."

"Luchino—that's Mozzie's Vatican contact—is convinced it's true."

"Care to clue me in on how you propose to find out if Nardone has a Dante? And this time, take me through the front door."

Neal winced. "For the record, Mozzie advocated a simple break-in, but I knew you wouldn't approve."

"Thank you for realizing that obvious truth. What did you come up with as an alternative solution?"

"The Mansfeld file includes a reference to a buyer in Tuscany. The Mafia bosses are known to invest in fine art. If Luchino is right about the Dante, Nardone could be this buyer. We could set up a sting, offering something to tempt him. If he nibbles, that would provide the justification to get a search warrant for his property."

Peter exhaled, drawing it out deliberately. "Those are two Hail Mary passes, neither one of which may pan out." Travis and his team of tech specialists had been working on the decryption of Rolf Mansfeld's computer files ever since the cybercriminal was arrested. The results were turning into a Pandora's box which could lead to significant arrests but they were also laden with hidden pitfalls. Rolf had prepared a list of buyers of artworks. The buyers were often only identified by location. The Tuscany reference was one.

"We should at least give it a shot," Neal argued. "Steinar shouldn't rest on his laurels."

Rolf Mansfeld had intended for Neal to work for him, leading a secret life as a thief and forger while continuing to work at the FBI. To take advantage of the Mansfeld file, Peter had agreed to assume the role of Rolf. His alias for the ops was Steinar Wolff. The last transaction had been handled on the dark web. This one, if it was approved, and that seemed highly unlikely based on what Neal had told him so far, would likely also be negotiated on the web.

"What do you have to offer as bait?" Peter challenged.

"That Da Vinci painting I made when I was a prisoner in Hungary," Neal said promptly, indicating he'd expected the question. "It's an excellent forgery. I'll stake my reputation on it standing up to scrutiny. The original is in a museum in Parma. If Claudia can persuade the museum to take it off exhibit for a couple of weeks, we'd be able to claim I stole it and am now putting it up for auction."

Neal leaned forward, resting his arms on Peter's desk. "It's the perfect setup. We wanted to duplicate what would have happened if Rolf had been able to carry out his scheme. My cover as a student is ideal. I could stop off in Parma, so if anyone checked, I could claim I'd stolen the work then."

"That also makes your third Hail Mary. Do you honestly think you'll be able to get the Italians to agree?"

He grinned. "How much harder can it be than Operation Checkmate?"

"Speaking of which how do you plan to get Henry to Italy without spilling the beans?"

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

"That was the same question Peter asked," Neal said, taking a sip of his current favorite morning brew, a smoky Sumatra. With Sara in London, they'd taken to talking over her lunch hour which translated into early morning for him. When Sara came down from the ceiling after hearing about Mozzie's offer, her mind raced ahead to how they'd be able to trick Henry.

"Do you know when Henry and Eric leave for India?" Sara asked.

"They have tickets to fly out late on New Year's Day. Since Henry always flies first class, switching his flights won't be an issue. They could leave just as easily from Venice. The trick will be getting them there. Our partner in skullduggery came up with the solution."

"What was Mozzie's idea?" Neal could hear the smile in Sara's voice.

"For this maneuver, it's best you call him Athos."

"Richard and Aidan are helping?" Sara had known about his fellow musketeers for a while. When his best friends at Columbia had helped him elude an attempted fraud by Garrett Fowler, Richard called himself Porthos. Aidan was Aramis. Mozzie was first introduced to the group as Athos. Their ranks since then had expanded to include Sara in the guise of Constance.

"They'd hoped to play a role, and it's only fitting. Henry has longed to be a musketeer. This can be considered his initiation. I suggested he'd be perfect for the part of Planchet, d'Artagnan's servant, but Henry claimed the role of captain, Monsieur de Tréville. And, as everyone knows, pranking one's captain is considered _de rigueur_."

"Are there any other actors in this cast of thousands?"

"You should include Richard's parents since they set the con into motion . . . roughly twenty-six years ago. His birthday is on December 19."

"Details, please!"

"Travis is hosting a dinner party at an Italian restaurant to celebrate. Unfortunately I won't be in town, but that may be for the best as Henry will have less reason to suspect anything devious. He and Eric will be invited as well as Aidan and Keiko. Mozzie is friends with the owner of the restaurant who has also been persuaded to be a member of the con."

"I think I know what you have planned," Sara said excitedly. "One of those restaurant drawings where customers place their business cards in a bowl and some lucky person, who is never me, wins a free dinner."

"And you wouldn't win this time either," Neal said. "Eric will be the lucky recipient of the fabulous prize. He'll find out a couple of days after the event."

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Two days later, the only potential squalls on Neal's horizon were the snowstorms predicted for the weekend. He'd finished his seminars on Wednesday. The last papers had been turned in. His flight to Rome was scheduled for Sunday, with the first-class ticket provided by Mozzie.

The team planned to hold a surprise party at the office on Friday to celebrate Peter's second anniversary as leader of the White Collar task force. The actual date was the day before, but Jones thought there'd be less flak about holding a party on a Friday. Diana had given Neal strict instructions under pain of bodily injury not to mention anything about anniversaries before then. She needn't have worried. Football, not anniversaries, was on Neal's mind.

Peter could wave his arms all he liked about the futility of Hail Mary passes. Neal had just thrown a successful one. Claudia welcomed his proposal with enthusiasm. She'd heard the rumors about Nardone being a Mafia boss and believed the sting was worth the risk. She'd secured the grudging permission of the museum in Parma to remove the Da Vinci from view. There was no need to spread misleading information in the press. If Neal were to actually steal the painting, the news would be kept out of the newspapers for at least a couple of weeks. Mozzie and Jones would provide more than adequate publicity of the theft on the dark web.

Late in the day, Peter stopped off at his desk in the bullpen. "I should have realized you were an excellent quarterback."

"It's all in the hands," Neal said complacently, "and having great wide receivers."

"Mozzie's hands may not be as skilled. Claudia hasn't heard anything about a missing Dante manuscript."

"True, but she's excited about the possibility," Neal pointed out. "Plus, it's the season for miracles."

"A little divine intervention never hurts," Peter said with a chuckle. "You'll arrive in Parma Monday morning. You think it's reasonable to believe you'd be able to steal the Da Vinci that night?"

"It's tight but achievable. There's no way of knowing if Rolf contacted Nardone and told him about me, but just in case, we're prepared."

"And that's because your fellow crew member Mozzie is already laying the groundwork?"

"This time he won't arrive much earlier than me," Neal assured his skeptical boss. "Mozzie doesn't want to miss the Arkham Round Table session that's scheduled for tomorrow afternoon. Now that Diana has surrendered part of the writing duties to him, he takes his responsibilities very seriously."

"Jones will post an ad for the Da Vinci on the dark web next Tuesday," Peter said. "On the extreme long shot that we get a nibble, I'll move up our travel plans and bring the Da Vinci with me. Otherwise, El and I will meet you in Venice on the thirtieth."

Neal smiled. "You better start your packing list. I'm feeling lucky."

**Neal's loft. Sunday morning.**

"Aren't you done?" Henry eyed Neal's stuffed bags. "How much more stuff can you cram inside?"

"Just a couple more shirts," Neal said. _Plus the next move in Operation Checkmate._ Henry had offered to drive him to the airport. In a few hours, Neal would be on the plane for Parma. He'd already planned to spend time at the National Gallery which had an outstanding collection of Renaissance and Baroque masters. Now he had a second purpose. The museum had promised to remove the Da Vinci from exhibit during the night on Monday. If anyone was tailing him or had access to surveillance cameras, they'd see him spend the day at the museum. The next morning he'd fly to Rome.

"We'll miss you at Christmas," Henry said. "Eric was looking forward to having a buffer from all the relatives."

"Tell Eric he has nothing to worry about. He's already met almost everyone, and his stock is platinum." Neal paused, shirt in hand. "I wish I could attend Richard's birthday party. He told me he'd invited you and Eric. Will you be able to go?"

"Wouldn't miss it. Travis is hosting it at Canaletto's."

Neal spun around. "Isn't that the name of the restaurant we liked at the Venetian Resort in Las Vegas?"

Henry nodded. "A branch recently opened in Manhattan on the Upper East Side. I've yet to try it out."

"I'm doubly sorry I can't attend. You'll have to give me a full review." He turned back to rummage in the drawer. "Now, where's my turtleneck?"

"Which one? I'll help you look." Henry glanced at his watch. "If you want to make the plane, you better step on it."

Neal snapped his fingers. "I remember. It's in the laundry room. I'll be right back." He darted out of the room before Henry could say anything. The laundry room was in the basement. Neal intended Henry to have ample time to search his suitcase. They still had a comfortable margin to get to the airport.

Buried among his shirts was a small zippered nylon bag which contained Matthew, or rather Matthew's hair, a shaggy blond wig Neal had worn whenever he was disguised as Sara's fictitious boyfriend. For months, he and Sara had conned their friends that they were dating Alicia and Matthew, when in reality the two were simply avatars of themselves. A few weeks ago, Sara had deliberately let slip she was meeting Matthew at a restaurant. Neal had worn the wig for the occasion, and he'd observed Henry spying on them. His super-sleuth brother wouldn't be able to resist snooping through Neal's bag.

When Neal returned upstairs, Henry was casually sprawled in a chair arranging the chessmen on the board. "You took a while. I thought I'd have to play chess with myself."

"Devising a new gambit?" _It will do you no good. Operation Checkmate is locked and loaded. _Henry had been careful, but not careful enough. Neal had left the tab of the zipper up and it was now in the down position. Matthew had been outed.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Henry held his celebratory _whoop_ in check till after he'd dropped Neal off at the airport. It wasn't easy. He'd been consumed by an almost irresistible desire to give Neal a noogie for the con he'd pulled. Henry had been right, after all. For months he'd wondered about the man Sara kept heaping praise on, but she'd always avoided using a last name. That, in itself, was suspicious. It wasn't in vain that he'd spied on Sara and Matthew at a restaurant a few weeks ago. At the time, he'd considered the possibility that it was Neal in disguise, pretending to be Matthew. He should have stuck by his hunch, damn it. He was right.

But why did Neal do it? Sara had first mentioned Matthew last July. Just what kind of con was it? Had Neal talked Sara into the masquerade at the restaurant as a prank because he suspected Henry was checking up on him?

The thought made Henry swerve out of his lane onto the shoulder of the expressway. He'd found out about the date at a speakeasy party at June's. Neal was riding the high of completing a long and painful con against the Mansfelds. Peter had restricted him to office duty which translated into Neal feeling bored. This would be just the sort of stunt he'd pull. Sara would have been happy to go along. Neal had been abducted, drugged, and held prisoner for over a week. Who could deny him anything?

But that didn't explain why Neal was taking the wig to Italy. What if there never was a Matthew? Neal knew Henry thought Sara was a good match. After all, Henry had set up Neal and Sara to volunteer at the same shelter for runaways over a year ago. In hindsight, that was a mistake. He'd been too obvious. Mistake number two was pretending not to read the Arkham Files stories. It had always stretched credulity that Henry would ignore stories that featured Neal, and now that Diana had inserted him into the stories too, it was unthinkable.

Henry groaned. Two dumbass moves. Neal likely suspected he'd been feeding Diana ideas for the stories. That was the only logical reason he would have pretended he wasn't reading them. This was one chess game where Henry was perilously close to being checkmated.

Neal might have thought that if Henry believed he was dating Sara, he'd stop checking into his love life. But rather than having fake dates out in the open, Neal had persuaded Sara to go along with a pretend secret relationship where they would hide the truth from everybody. Would Neal be that devious? Of course, he would.

Neal knew Henry would analyze the situation, determine that either Sara or Neal was shy about dating publicly, and would decide to give them the space they needed. And, all the while, Neal would continue to date Alex or whoever else he wanted.

Or was Henry guilty of over-analyzing the issue? He smacked his hands on the steering wheel in frustration.

What were the knowns? Alex Hunter had registered in Lyon for Thanksgiving at the same hotel used for an Arkham Files Thanksgiving story. Alex's reservation had been quickly canceled. There were no reservations in Neal's name, but he could have had the information deleted by the time Henry checked. Was Neal playing a game or had he been genuinely inspired? There was a sure way to find out.

In the latest Arkham Files story, Neal and Sara spent New Year's Eve at a hotel near the pyramids in Egypt. Who wouldn't be inspired by the romance of that night? Surely not Neal, Mr. Romantic. Italy was a diversion. On New Year's Eve he'd be in Cairo. And Henry would be there to unmask whoever his brother took along.

Henry had seen the D.C. fireworks innumerable times. Celebrating the New Year in Cairo would be much more spectacular. He and Eric were going on a week's vacation to India at the start of the year. They could simply leave a couple of days early and stop off at the hotel in Cairo referenced in the story.

Perhaps El could discover Neal's itinerary. Peter would likely insist on being informed of his travel plans. But that presented another issue. Neal somehow had roped Peter into the con. Peter had told Henry that he and Neal were going to the planetarium on the evening Henry spotted Neal in disguise with Sara at the restaurant. Had Neal canceled at the last minute or was Peter in on the scheme? Did he suspect his wife was a co-conspirator?

The only way out of this mess was to start a new gambit. Henry had been calling his efforts to guide Neal toward Sara Project Enlightenment. He needed some of that himself. On New Year's Eve, he'd finally find out the truth.

**Henry's Loft. Monday evening.**

"Neal missed quite a party," Eric said, shrugging off his corduroy jacket.

"I know he regrets he couldn't go," Henry said. Aidan and his fiancée Keiko had also attended Richard's birthday bash. Would Neal have brought a date? If he hadn't, he would have been fair game for teasing.

Henry stripped off his sports jacket and hung it in the closet. The lights of Manhattan twinkled through the large windows in the bedroom. Brooklyn Bridge looked as if it had been decorated with holiday lights. This was his first Christmas in his new loft. He'd persuaded Eric to move in a month ago, ostensibly to help train his puppy Splash, but he hoped Eric would agree to make it a permanent arrangement.

"The music, the murals on the walls—some of the waiters even spoke Italian. I felt like I'd been transported to Venice." Eric turned to Henry as he loosened his tie. "Have you ever been there?"

"Not yet, only the Las Vegas version."

"Maybe one of us will win the restaurant drawing." Eric smiled. "I'm feeling lucky."

"That's quite a prize. Air travel for two to spend New Year's Eve in Venice. A masked ball, fireworks over the canals. The restaurant business must be more profitable than I realized."

Eric walked over and placed his hands on Henry's hips, drawing him close. He murmured in Henry's ear, "Would you serenade me in a gondola?"

"I'll serenade you anywhere you'd like," Henry said, his voice growing husky as he breathed in Eric's scent of sandalwood and citrus. "If one of us doesn't win the drawing, how about a stopover in Egypt on our way to India? I hear the fireworks over the pyramids are quite spectacular. I know of a hotel with a magnificent view, gorgeous suites . . ."

"I think I'd rather ride in a gondola than sit on top of a camel, but I like the direction you're going. Shouldn't we have a warmup session for New Year's Eve?"

"Who needs fireworks outside? We'll make our own."

* * *

_Notes: Thanks for reading! Italian Masquerade has 4 chapters which I'll post weekly on Wednesday. _

_The Diziani Ball is fictitious. I named it after the Baroque artist Gaspare Diziani and patterned it on the equally fabulous Tiepolo Carnival Ball. _

_Many thanks to Penna Nomen for beta help. Penna was the one who thought of a restaurant drawing to entice Henry and Eric, and we invented a fictitious New York branch of Canaletto's Ristorante in the Venetian Resort. There is a restaurant called Canaletto on the Upper East Side, but to the best of my knowledge, it's not connected to the one in Las Vegas. We tossed around plot bunnies for this story during a writing retreat in Las Vegas, and that's the subject of my blog post this week: "Ideas from Writing Retreat 2018."_

_You may have noticed that there's a gap in this chapter between Thursday and Sunday, the morning that Henry takes Neal to the airport. Penna's story, A Caffrey Christmas Carol, describes what takes place during that very eventful weekend._

_This story is part of the Caffrey Conversation AU, created by Penna Nomen. If you'd like to see photos of the cast members and other visuals, visit the Italian Masquerade board at our Caffrey Conversation Pinterest site where both Penna and I pin illustrations for our stories. Penna and I share a blog called Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation, where we post about our stories and adventures in writing. We also have summaries for all the stories we've written. FanFiction doesn't allow links in notes, but I've added links to both our blog and our Pinterest site in my profile. _

_**Background on the Caffrey Conversation AU for new readers**: This series was created by Penna Nomen and begins with her story Caffrey Conversation. Our blog has a list and short summaries for all the stories in chronological order. The primary difference from canon in that Neal was never sent to prison and the characters are several years younger. The personalities of canon characters (Elizabeth, Mozzie, Diana, Jones, Hughes, June, and Sara) are the same. _

_Peter recruited Neal in 2003 when he was 24. In the fall of 2004 he entered Columbia University's graduate program in art as a part-time student. In the spring of 2005 Peter and Neal were appointed to the Interpol art crimes task force. The work on the task force is part time and places additional emphasis on art crimes for the White Collar team. In canon, Neal's only relatives to be mentioned are his father and mother. In ours, his mother Meredith has a twin sister named Noelle who is a psychologist. Noelle married Peter's older brother Joe during the 2004 Christmas holiday. Henry Winslow is Noelle's son and nearly three years older than Neal. He works at a private investigation and security company named Winston-Winslow (usually referred to as Win-Win). Neal has one other cousin, Angela, who is the daughter of Noelle and Meredith's deceased brother. Working with the White Collar team are two non-canon characters: Travis Miller, a technical expert, and Tricia Wiese, a profiler. Neal's friends at Columbia include fellow grad students Richard and Aidan. Pins for the entire cast and locations are on our Caffrey Conversation Pinterest site._


	2. Secrets of the Vatican

**Chapter 2: Secrets of the Vatican**

**Rome, Italy. Wednesday, December 21, 2005. **

Neal was on the third day of his study tour of Italy. For the first time, he could explore the museums in Rome without having to focus on an upcoming heist. With his Columbia credentials, he was able to gain access to restricted areas and skip the long entrance lines which were unavoidable for the general public. He'd earmarked the afternoon for the Borghese Gallery but already realized he'd need a minimum of another day there.

So far, extracurricular issues hadn't been a concern. He and Mozzie were staying at the same hotel, but Mozzie was spending most of his time with his friend Luchino at the Vatican library. Up to now, Luchino had failed to divulge any details about the secret vault—much to Mozzie's disgruntlement. Nor had there been any nibbles about the Da Vinci listing on the dark web.

That was fine with Neal. He had a few more days to concentrate on art before Sara's arrival. She'd fly to Florence on Saturday. They'd spend Christmas and the following week together. Despite his promotion of the case to Peter, this was one time he'd just as soon not have any Mafia-induced complications.

When his cell phone rang and he saw Peter's name on the display, he had mixed emotions. It was too soon for Peter to be wishing him a Merry Christmas. Whatever Peter was calling about was bound to be case related. But Neal could hardly grumble since he was the one who'd suggested it. And, okay, running a con on a Mafia kingpin was a Christmas present of sorts to his inner kid.

"Have the New York Giants been calling you?" Peter asked.

Neal grinned while his inner kid performed cartwheels. "Not yet."

"You should be hearing from them at any moment. Any guy who can succeed with so many Hail Marys has a bright future in professional football."

"I'd just as soon avoid the tackles. I take it you got a nibble?"

"Jones got a reply this morning. He's in the midst of negotiating a meeting. The person wants the transaction to be conducted in Florence, and yes, I remember that's where the Mafia boss is located. It looks like your hunch that Nardone would take the bait is paying off. Can you be in Florence on Wednesday, the twenty-eighth?"

"Sara and I'd already planned to stay in Florence till the thirtieth."

"Stick to that plan. El and I will fly there, arriving on the twenty-seventh."

"I'm sorry this will shorten your time with your family in Albany."

"Don't worry about it. We've moved up our arrival date to spend additional time with them on the front end. It's probably not necessary to mention how excited El is about going to Florence." He paused for a moment. Neal could hear the faint drum of his fingers on the desk. "Mixing a vacation with a sting is not my formula for success."

"I realize that. I would have preferred different timing as well," Neal admitted.

"We'll be operating without our normal support team. You'll have to sacrifice part of your vacation with Sara."

"On the plus side, I'll be able to count the time as workdays, right?" Neal asked hopefully.

"Both of us will. I'm going to ring up Claudia now. Effective immediately, you're no longer Neal Caffrey, grad student. You're back on duty."

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

"You know what this means, right?" Mozzie's eyes glinted through his glasses as he looked expectantly at Neal.

It was an immense relief that Peter wasn't present for the conversation. Neal sensed that one of those gray areas which Peter had such difficulty in dealing with was about to pop out. Fortunately, he didn't have the same issues. Besides, he owed Mozzie.

Neal had called him with the good news after Peter rang off. Mozzie had already seen the activity on the dark web and asked to meet him at a bar on the Piazza di Sant'Ignazio, the plaza where the Carabinieri headquarters was located. The art crimes branch of the Carabinieri was housed in a lovely Rococo building clad in peach-colored terracotta. It was conveniently located not far from Mozzie's home away from home in the Vatican library. The piazza was quiet and traffic-free. It provided an ideal setting for strategizing their next move over a plate of antipasti.

"I'd like to get your take on it," Neal said, keeping his voice neutral. He had an appointment with Claudia in an hour. Whatever Mozzie's fertile imagination came up with would no doubt have a bearing on his upcoming discussion.

"The Suit will work with the Carabinieri to set up a sting, hoping to trap the Mafia boss when he purchases your Da Vinci. But, of course, that by itself won't implicate our mark in anything. He'll claim that he was unaware it was stolen or that he assumed he was buying a forgery."

"I know," Neal said after swallowing a bite of prosciutto. "The intention is to provide a justification for a search warrant of his estate. Hopefully, that will lead to the discovery of the Dante manuscript."

"But you're familiar with official searches. They don't begin to compare with our skill."

Neal eyed him warily, knowing the answer already. "What do you propose?"

"That we go on a shopping expedition first. Then we can provide the _polizia_ with what to look for. I can hear their gratitude already."

"You're back to wanting us to break into a Mafia boss's estate?"

Mozzie smiled. "What more delightful adventure could there be?" Before Neal could start rattling off alternatives, he added, "I've been researching Signor Nardone. His vineyards are quite famous for Carmignano wine and grappa. In a few days, he's holding a reception for buyers. We could easily sneak in."

He had to admit, the idea was tempting. With their expertise in wine, no one would suspect them. "And Peter won't hear of it?"

"I certainly don't plan to tell him, and I assume you won't either. You could attribute any discovery we make to an anonymous source of Luchino's."

Mozzie had thought of all the angles. Neal's only official status in Europe was as a member of the Interpol art crimes task force. Claudia had seemed amenable to a flexible approach. And he should be grateful Mozzie wasn't asking him to break into the Vatican library in quest of the secret vault within the archives.

Mozzie dabbed his mouth with a napkin. "Oh, by the way, I've arranged for us to have a special tour of the Vatican library this evening with Luchino. He'll supply you with the details of the Dante then."

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

"Can you share any information about your source?" Claudia asked.

Neal liked Claudia. She reminded him of Agent Tricia Wiese. She was roughly the same age with shoulder-length brunette hair. Her willingness to consider unorthodox tactics was a decided plus.

"I wish I could," Neal said, speaking the truth. "He's the friend of a friend and insists on anonymity."

Claudia had a tiny office but the view overlooking the piazza more than compensated for the cramped surroundings. On the walls were framed photographs documenting art recoveries by the Carabinieri. Neal recognized some of the paintings as Italian and Dutch masters. He hoped she would have equal success with their case.

She made a note on a pad of paper in front of her. "If he wants to claim a finder's fee, he'll have to come out from behind the curtain, but we'll put that aside for the moment. Signor Nardone is a man of considerable influence. Obtaining a search warrant ordinarily is not difficult in Italy, but for someone like him . . ." She finished her thought with a shrug. "As for any stolen property, although we have the right to seize it, that doesn't necessarily lead to him being charged with a crime. If he claims to be unaware of the provenance of the art and can't be connected to the theft, he will probably escape prosecution. Do you think your contact can provide additional details about which pieces have been acquired?"

"He's attempting to. The sting will most likely take place in Florence. Will you lead it or will the Florence branch of the Carabinieri be in charge?"

She smiled. "For this, I'm quite happy to sacrifice my Christmas holiday."

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

El wiped her hands on a dishtowel. She could wash dishes while the biscotti baked in the oven. A CD of Mannheim Steamroller's Christmas music was playing in the background. The kitchen smelled of almonds and chocolate. Let the festivities begin! Peter promised to arrive home early, and they'd leave immediately afterward for Albany. On the way, they'd drop Satchmo off at her sister's.

When the timer dinged, she turned on the oven light. The biscotti were a last-minute addition. El would leave them with Peter's parents for them to enjoy while they were in Italy. She stopped to hug herself that it was really happening. Their suitcases for Italy were already packed. She was deliberately traveling light so there'd be plenty of space for purchases.

She removed the two logs from the oven and placed them on a rack to cool. Just in time, too, for no sooner had she set down the baking sheet than the phone rang. She smiled when she saw Henry's name. This would likely be their final scheming session before Venice.

"Merry Christmas, Henry!"

"And season's greetings to my fellow conspirator. Did I catch you at a bad time?"

"No, the biscotti need to cool for several minutes before I slice them." She heard a soft moan and added, "They're chocolate and almond."

A louder groan. "I knew I should have come by in person."

"Is this a matchmaking consult?"

He chuckled. "No, I'm giving that a rest, but I do have an update for you. Neal is pretending to be Matthew."

"No!" El called forth all her acting skills to pretend to be surprised. Neal had given strict orders that they weren't to lie to Henry, but she could claim her surprise was over Henry figuring out the truth. Henry's discovery of the wig was just as Neal had predicted, but his conclusions were unexpected. None of them had discussed the possibility that Henry might believe Matthew was a real person and that Neal was masquerading as Sara's boyfriend in order to trick Henry. Not that he seemed to mind. He was clearly amused by Neal's deviousness.

"I should warn you," Henry advised. "Neal's roped Peter into helping him."

"Not necessarily. Peter might not have realized what was going on," she objected. "Neal could have fabricated an excuse to cancel at the last minute."

"True," he acknowledged, "but be careful about what you tell him."

"Thanks for the warning." So far so good. The masked ball would simply be more of a surprise.

"I suppose we should be flattered that Neal is taking advantage of the romantic scenarios we invented for Arkham Files for his assignations with Alex. The smoking gun was my discovery of the canceled reservation in her name for the hotel in Lyon."

"But you told me you didn't find a reservation for Neal."

"That just goes to show he suspects I'm checking up on him. It's also why he tried to mislead me with the wig. He planted it in the suitcase, knowing I'd search the contents. He wants me to think that he's dating Sara in secret, but I'm onto his games."

El rolled her eyes at Satchmo. Operation Checkmate was growing more complicated by the moment.

"Mark my words. Neal intends to meet either Alex or Sara in Cairo over the winter holiday and reenact the scene we'd designed for Arkham Neal and Sara." Henry groaned and El wanted to as well. "If Neal intends to usurp our New Year's spectacular and take Alex instead, that's dirty pool. I was all set to stop off in Cairo with Eric to pay Neal and his date a surprise visit. It would teach them right," he added in a low grumble.

At that, El's heart stopped for a beat. "You used the past tense," she ventured.

"Yeah. Would you believe Eric and I will celebrate New Year's Eve in Venice?"

El did her best to transform her gasp of relief into one of surprise. The looming catastrophe was averted. "I thought you were going to India."

"We still are, but thanks to Eric's incredible good luck our trip has been expanded." As Henry related how Eric got a call with the news he'd won the drawing and how excited they both were, El began to purr.

"Eric told me this is the first time he's ever won anything. He called me his good luck charm." Henry gave a chuckle which made him sound embarrassed and happy at the same time. El would have to be careful that her purrs weren't so loud Henry could hear them. "I made a case for going to Cairo, but I have to admit this masked ball sounds like once in a lifetime opportunity."

_If you only knew how true that was. _She looked forward to telling Neal how close he'd come to having his grand reveal ruined by Henry's overly devious brain. As far as she was concerned, this con couldn't end quickly enough.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

"Is this your first visit to the secret archives?" Luchino asked Neal.

"Yes, although I've been to the Vatican library, I've never had admission to the private collection."

Neal had met Mozzie and Luchino at the entrance to the library after his appointment with Claudia. Luchino was a slight man in his fifties with long curly hair swept off his face and a trim goatee. His amiable face seemed to be constantly enjoying a private joke. The secret archive could be considered one of them. Private would be a better word for them as they contained papal records not readily available to the general public. Unlike the breathtaking beauty of the Vatican Library's Sistine Hall, the secret archive was a dark tomb of seemingly endless miles of shelving units filled with documents and manuscripts.

The cleric's face crinkled into a smile. "And it is a disappointment, yes?"

"The true treasures are in the vault," Mozzie pointed out.

Neal watched Luchino for his reaction. As a librarian who specialized in medieval manuscripts, he would know, and his only reaction was a slight shrug which was probably enough to keep Mozzie's conspiracy theory alive.

But Neal was here not to discuss vaults but to learn about a certain Mafia boss. "My contact with the Carabinieri told me they suspect Nardone could be connected to art heists but because of his prominent status they've been forced to tread warily. Is there any other information you can provide us about him?"

The ends of his mouth drooped into a frown. "I was told the rumor about the Dante manuscript from a priest who'd heard it during a confession. Because of the sanctity of the confessional, there is little I can share with you. From the way the penitent was described, I suspect he worked for Nardone. He was suffering from kidney failure and passed away a week later."

Mozzie's face oozed sympathy. "He wished to atone for his sins, a natural emotion. His conscience may have been burdened by other crimes."

"You speak truly, my friend."

Had this turned into a game of charades? Neal could play along and decided to toss another Hail Mary. It was the Vatican, after all. If a miracle was to occur, this was the proper venue. "I heard about a Caravaggio painting that was stolen from a church altar in Palermo in 1969. The Mafia was suspected of being involved. It was a horrific crime with the painting cut out from its frame. The painting has never been recovered. I would imagine such a burden would weigh as heavily on one's soul as a Dante manuscript."

Luchino shot him a sharp look. "Whoever would hide a Dante undoubtedly would be equally interested in a Caravaggio. They could justify their crimes by thinking they were patriots preserving the works for later generations."

"There was a theft of a work by a Florentine artist, Lorenzo Lippi, from a museum in France last year," Neal continued, keeping his tone even. "Our hypothetical patriot may have also considered it an act of liberation."

Luchino shrugged. "Such is the vanity of the world." He paused at one of the shelving units and traced his finger along a row of what appeared to be official records. "The villa owned by Signor Nardone dates back to the 1500s. The original construction was carried out during the time of Pope Clement VII and may have served as a papal summer retreat."

Mozzie's nose twitched at the reference. Neal knew what he was thinking. That pope had been one of the Medici. Any connection to that famous Florentine family would ignite Mozzie's flames.

Luchino turned to face them. "Have you ever heard of the secret passages within the Vatican? Fascinating structures, many of them date back to the Renaissance."

Mozzie wet his lips and attempted to look nonchalant. "I wonder if Nardone's villa might be similarly endowed."

Luchino shrugged. "I have no idea, but if you're curious about the building, you should check out the resources of the Laurentian Library in Florence. It was built by the Medici and houses many of their historical records."

Secret passages, a mystery concerning a Renaissance pope, a Mafia crime lord . . . Operation Checkmate might need to move to the backburner.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

"Slow down, Neal," Peter protested. "You're saying Nardone not only has a Dante but he also potentially has two other masterpieces in his possession?"

"Luchino as much as confirmed it," Neal insisted. He called Peter immediately upon returning to the pensione.

"Simply because the villa may have secret rooms doesn't mean it's being used to store Mafia loot."

"But someone has to have those paintings. Why not Nardone?"

"Are you sure you're not guilty of confusing him with Santa Claus?"

"No, and I bet Claudia won't either," Neal said, keeping his huff barely audible. "Was Travis able to insert a tracker on my painting?"

"He finished it yesterday. No one will be able to detect it. It was fortunate the painting was on a wood panel. If it had been on canvas, the chip would have been much more difficult to conceal. Don't worry. Wherever the painting is taken, we'll find it."

"I know you will." That painting held a special significance for him. He'd painted it while he was held captive by Ydrus. He'd kept his sanity by imagining he was painting Sara. Ordinarily, he wouldn't have allowed it to be used as bait, but there hadn't been adequate time to prepare anything else.

"When will you leave for Florence?" Peter asked.

"Tomorrow morning."

"You'll have two days before Sara arrives to focus on art, right? Nothing extracurricular?"

"Nothing planned," Neal assured him.

"That's not as comforting as it should be. What will Mozzie be doing?"

"Burning the midnight oil in a library designed by Michelangelo. Luchino believes Mozzie may be able to find plans for Nardone's villa."

"Rumors of secret rooms and passages must have Mozzie in their grip. Tell me he's not going to sneak inside."

"He's not going to—"

"Damn it, I knew I phrased that wrong. I can't control what he does, but I can pull the reins on you. This is an FBI and Interpol sanctioned operation. You convinced us to pursue it. You _will not_ sneak inside, no matter how hard Mozzie works on you."

"You have my word," Neal promised, stifling his inner kid who was wailing his displeasure. It was time to be an adult, especially since Peter was getting much too skilled at wrecking his deflections.

"Good. You were the one who argued to go to Parma to keep up appearances. How would it look for the thief who supposedly stole the Da Vinci to be caught casing out his mark's villa?"

"I promise not to ruin your Christmas. Give my best to El."

"And ours to Sara. See you in six days."

Neal suspected Peter was tempted to continue the lecture, and if he knew how upset Neal's inner kid was, he'd have good reason. Was there a way he could foist the scamp onto Mozzie for him to deal with?

That evening Neal and Mozzie took the train to Florence. The wine reception at Nardone's estate wasn't for two days, giving Mozzie time for his research while Neal continued his art studies. Neal had originally planned to stay at an inexpensive pensione to save money and then move to more luxurious accommodations when Sara arrived, but Mozzie argued against it. His reasoning was that if anyone was monitoring Neal, he should live up to his image as a high roller, and naturally Mozzie would want to stay at the same place. With Mozzie offering to pick up the tab, Neal was happy to comply.

Neal had picked the Antica Torre Tornabuoni to be his and Sara's Christmas hideaway. The tower-hotel was a historic building with the original construction dating back to the 1300s. He'd chosen a room sufficiently high in the tower that they could see the Arno River from their balcony. The art museums Neal was interested in, as well as the Laurentian Library, were all short walks away.

With the sting several days off, Neal could relax and devote himself to art. When a winter snowstorm caused Nardone to cancel the wine reception, Neal could afford to be philosophical. Even Mozzie's disappointment was tempered.

On the day of Mozzie's departure for Venice, they had lunch at a ristorante on the Piazza del Duomo with a magnificent view of the Christmas tree in front of the cathedral.

"Neal, I'm getting soft," Mozzie said with a sigh as he dipped a slice of crusty bread into the osso bucco. "I should be hidden in the vineyards, disguised as a snowman while casing the villa."

"I'm glad you're not. I'd rather not eat alone, and honestly, you probably wouldn't have discovered anything."

"You don't think that, like Mole in _Wind from the Willows_, I would have tripped on a door knocker to a secret passageway?" He smiled. "Perhaps not. Still, I wish the books had been more forthcoming."

Mozzie had unearthed a few texts referencing the villa, and he'd been able to confirm that the villa had been used by Pope Clement VII, but there was nothing to indicate secret rooms.

"We mustn't be discouraged," Mozzie continued.

Who was discouraged? Not Neal. Sara was due to arrive in a few hours. He swallowed another bite of delectable pappardelle with duck sauce and let Mozzie ramble on, assisted by the occasional encouraging nod.

"The information I was able to glean was telling. The renovation in the early twentieth century was extensive. Fortunately for us, the blueprints had to be registered with the group responsible for overseeing Tuscany's historical sites. There was no secret room displayed in the plans."

"I see that look. Why aren't you disappointed?"

Mozzie absently twisted the silver rings on the fingers of his left hand as if they were an abacus. "I found it instructive that Nardone paid far more than the estate's appraised value when he purchased it in 1989."

"Perhaps he was in a bidding war with a hotel chain," Neal suggested.

"Possibly, but what was it that made Nardone consider the estate so valuable?"

"The secret room?"

Mozzie nodded. "That's what I believe. I looked up a report of a wine reception which was held at the villa in the fall. One of the guests remarked on the extensive wine cellar in the basement. There's no mention of a wine cellar on the blueprint plans which were made at the time of the restoration—"

"—because it wasn't touched," Neal finished, growing excited.

"Exactly. If I were looking for a secret room, that's where I'd start." Mozzie sighed longingly. "I should return to help you with the search."

"We'd have to explain your presence to the Carabinieri," Neal reminded him, "but I'd love to have you along."

He hesitated then sighed even more deeply. "I'll have to pass. My soul has been corrupted enough by so many dealings with the suits. I'm not yet prepared to damage it further."

"Janet will be glad you're staying with her." Mozzie was taking the evening train to Venice to meet his girlfriend. "When was the last time you took a break to celebrate Christmas?"

"With a woman? Don't ask. And try to remember that as a Wiccan, I don't participate in religious ceremonies. Instead, Janet and I intend to indulge in the pagan rites of mistletoe and various other Yule traditions. Convey my best wishes to Sara along with my thanks for the gift she sent me."

"You got an early Christmas present?"

"Please, Neal. Weren't you listening? It's a Yule gift."

Neal waved away his quibble. "What did she give you?"

"The best gift of all—something intangible. Sara spoke with a friend who's an agent for scriptwriters in the U.K. She'd sent him several of my scripts for _Yellowface, the Masked Avenger_, and he's agreed to represent me."

"Do you have any project in mind?" Neal asked, delighted at the news. Sara had mentioned her plans to him. He suspected she had a welcome ulterior motive and that was to distract Mozzie from illegal activities.

The short feature Aidan had produced last year about the adventures of the endangered yellow-faced bee had spawned a new outlet for Mozzie's creativity. His script for that project had been his first attempt. From there he'd branched into fanfiction with the Arkham Files stories. Neal wasn't surprised to hear television was now an alluring siren.

"Sara's encouraged me to write a _Doctor Who_ script," he confided. "A few nights ago when I was working on the next Arkham Files story, an idea presented itself to me which is worthy of being explored."

"You once told me con men never died," Neal said.

"Our smiles just fade away. I remember it well."

"Perhaps we have a new option where, like the Doctor, we can regenerate ourselves."

Mozzie nodded with all the gravitas the remark deserved. "I'll take that under advisement."

Neal intended to put any thoughts of cons or stings on the shelf starting this evening. Sara's flight was due to arrive in a few short hours, and for their first Christmas as a couple they couldn't have picked a better location. The following day passed in a whirl of boutiques and clothing stores. Neal and Sara had promised not to buy presents in advance so they could shop together for each other.

The Christmas markets were filled with seasonal delicacies for nibbling. They took a break from shopping to sip mulled wine while watching skaters dressed as penguins perform traditional dances on the outdoor ice rink. They didn't have a Christmas tree in their room, but they didn't need one when Florence had thoughtfully provided illuminated trees throughout the ancient city.

That night, high in the tower, with the lights of Florence twinkling below them, Neal didn't feel like he was in the clouds but among the stars.

They awoke on Christmas morning to find it had snowed during the night. The ancient city had been transformed into a gingerbread village coated with white frosting. Neal ordered room service for breakfast and they had their coffee in bed, from where they could admire the view through the French windows.

"I haven't felt a place so filled with magic since I was a child at Disneyland," Sara said. "And that was pure fantasy. This is real." She slipped her arm around his waist. "You and I are together. I've been swept into my own fairy tale, and my prince has come to visit me in my tower."

Any statement like that required a prolonged kiss. When they broke free, he said. "Your prince senses a secret to be revealed. You know I grew up in St. Louis but you never told me where you lived."

"I just did," she protested. "I lived in a land of wonder with princesses and witches and animals who could talk. Compared to your life, I was in another kingdom."

Was Sara serious or was she speaking metamorphically? "You lived in Anaheim?" he guessed.

She nodded. "Mom was a seamstress for the costume department. Some of my earliest memories are playing in the workrooms. The company was kid-friendly as you might expect. They had on-site daycare. My childhood was filled with dancing, songs, and fireworks."

"That's where you developed your love of fireworks!"

She smiled. "They bring back memories of watching the display over Cinderella's castle."

"Till your castle in the clouds came crashing down to Earth," he said, gently squeezing her hand.

"That's the trouble with dreams. They don't last." She hesitated a moment. "This is a secret I haven't told anyone else. After Dad left, I gave myself a pretend father and named him Walter after Walt Disney. You believed the image of your father was real. I knew mine wasn't."

"For your alias in Hungary, you picked Walters as the surname."

She nodded. "It was a tribute to the magic he brought into my life. When Mom died, I was ejected out of the magic kingdom"— she leaned her head on his shoulder—"until, that is, you let me enter your realm."

"This is no dream," he said, kissing her. "It's time for us to wake up and enter reality. We don't need to build our lives in the clouds. Life on Earth will be even better."

"That's what I'm counting on." She turned to face him. "Is this a good time to discuss your mom? All I know is she's in WITSEC, but if you'd rather not go into it, I understand."

"No, I want you to know." Why had he delayed so long in talking about his mom? Was it guilt over not having reached out to her? Sara would give anything to have hers back. He'd given up on his. Even with all the issues, he should have done more. He could hear Noelle's voice in his head that he shouldn't blame himself for her twin sister's problems, but it was hard not to. Not the stuff for Christmas discussions, although in a way it was. Noelle's birthday was yesterday. Her sister had been born a little later, on Christmas Day. He'd talked with Noelle yesterday on her birthday but he couldn't call his mom.

If they were truly to face reality, Sara needed to know what had gone on, so he told her. He shared anecdotes about happy childhood memories—baking cookies, reading folktales, singing together—as well as the drinking problems, the abuse he'd suffered from her boyfriend Vance. He explained that for the longest time he believed he'd been the cause of her issues. "A couple of years ago, Noelle was my therapist for several months. She helped me accept what happened."

"Was she able to convince you it wasn't your fault?" Sara asked.

He hesitated. This was not the time for concealment, but it was painful to admit the truth. "She did her best. It's something, though, that doesn't go away easily. You had a similar situation when your parents divorced. I suspect it's the same for you."

She nodded. "We both carry wounds. I think I must have been waiting for you. It's time for us to heal each other."

He kissed her. "We'll use some of that Disney magic on ourselves. When we get back, I want to write to Mom and tell her about us. The marshals will probably agree to transmit the letter." He hoped the news would make his mom happy for them.

"Have you told Noelle about us?"

He smiled. "For her birthday, I wrote her a letter explaining the Clueless con and how we were celebrating its conclusion. I sent it to Dressa in advance to give it to her on yesterday evening."

"Knowing your grandmother, I'm quite confident that the actress in Irene will make a dramatic reading of it," Sara said chuckling. "I wish we could eavesdrop on it."

"Me too. There's one other big secret you need to know," he said, bracing himself. "I have two moms."

Sara's eyes widened in amazement. "I always knew you were special, but really?"

"Yep, it's the truth. I recently learned that Noelle acted as a surrogate mom for her sister. Noelle was the one who gave birth to me." He explained about the difficulty Meredith had in carrying a baby to term and the in vitro fertilization technique that was used. "Neither one knew which of the sisters' eggs had been used for the procedure till a little over a year ago when Noelle found out it was hers. That was also when she told me about the circumstances of my birth."

"So Henry is not just your cousin but your half-brother?"

Neal nodded. "I told him in Hawaii last Christmas."

"Giving him even more reason to be protective of you. Who knows the truth?"

"Just Peter and El, Peter's parents, Noelle and her family—that includes Joe and his kids, Graham, Julia, and the Caffrey grandparents. It's yet one more secret that has to stay in the closet for now. When I reunited with my relatives, it became a problem for the marshals. It's not a secret that Noelle had a twin, but that twin supposedly vanished and her child with her. As far as the world knows, I'm a distant cousin who resurfaced after many years."

She gazed at him sympathetically. "You're forced to still live a con."

"And it's even more complicated than you realize. In order to maintain my usefulness for undercover work, I fabricated a tale where I'm not really a Caffrey at all but faked being a relative in order to claim a share of the inheritance. I call it the Anastasia con." He winced. "Are you sure you want to hook up with such an unsavory character?"

"That's not the real you," she said firmly. "Don't you dare think for a second I'd believe it. Besides you're not alone. Peter's living the con too since he usurped the role Rolf would have played."

"And if you stay with me, you'll become part of it as well." He shrugged. "You knew I had baggage." Even though he was sure his admission wouldn't change how she felt about him, he was anxious for her reaction.

She thought for a moment. "I could play it either way. That I was duped by you or that I was in on it with you." She smiled at him. "I much prefer the latter. We'll be two con artists together." She set her coffee cup down. "But today we don't need to pretend," she said firmly. "You'll call your family in D.C. and wish them a Merry Christmas. I wish I could be on the phone too."

"So do I. We'll make up for it in a few days." Mozzie had provided a phone with a rigged SIM card which would show an unknown international address, just in case Henry was doing any last-minute snooping.

* * *

_Notes: The Caravaggio mentioned in this chapter was stolen from a church in 1969. The Sicilian Mafia was believed to be involved in the crime. In 2018, clues emerged, leading police to hope it would soon be recovered, but so far it remains lost to the world. The Lorenzo Lippi painting is in a collection in Paris. The work depicts a woman holding a mask, and the connection to the theme to this story was too tempting to resist. El's biscotti recipe is courtesy of Tiffani Thiessen. Her recipe is available online. You can find it by searching for "Tiffani Thiessen chocolate biscotti."_

_Mozzie's comment that con men never die, their smiles just fade away is from the season 2 canon episode "Countermeasures." Penna explains the unusual circumstances of Neal's birth in Caffrey Disclosure. She invented the Anastasia con in Caffrey Aloha to provide cover for Neal so he could associate with his relatives. In this chapter, I covered Christmas in Florence, but you're probably wondering about Henry and Eric in Baltimore. Penna is writing a vignette about their Christmas. She plans to post it around the start of the year. _

_This week's blog post is about the "Dante Connection." Next week, I'll post Chapter 3 on Christmas Day. Will there be presents for Neal and his friends? I'll let you decide but I promise the blog will have some additional packages for you to unwrap.  
_

_Blog: Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation__  
Chapter Visuals and Music: The Italian Masquerade board on the Caffrey Conversation Pinterest website_


	3. Confessional

**Chapter 3: Confessional**

**Florence, Italy. Tuesday, December 27, 2005. **

"I haven't been to Florence since I was in college," El said, keeping her eyes fixed on the view through the car window as their taxi wound through narrow medieval streets on the way to the hotel. "Thank you, Neal and Mozzie!"

Peter seconded her appreciation. This was his first trip to Italy. Before this year, he'd never been to Europe. Over the past several months, his work had entailed trips to England, France, Germany, and Hungary. Traveling overseas on business was beginning to feel routine. Perhaps even more surprisingly, the rate Neal had been able to negotiate for them at the same hotel where he was staying fell within the FBI guidelines.

When they entered the lobby and found Neal and Sara waiting for them, it was the best gift of all. Peter had to keep reminding himself not to jump the gun. They'd only been dating for a few months. Sara was living in London. Once everyone knew they were dating, they might miss the excitement of a secret romance. One of them could grow bored. Incompatibilities might surface. This wasn't the end but only the beginning. But as he and El greeted the happy couple, he had a good feeling that it would work out for them.

Thanks to a last-minute cancellation, Neal had managed to secure them a room on the top floor with magnificent views of the city. Although today would be a workday for him and Neal, El and Sara would be free to shop and visit museums.

Claudia had scheduled a meeting at the Carabinieri branch office which was in the historic Palazzo Pitti, across the Arno River from the hotel. Neal told him on the walk over that it had been built by the Medici family in the sixteenth century and was their chief residence. The palace was now a museum complex.

In some respects, the walk reminded Peter of when he and Neal had strolled along the Seine last August as they were preparing to set the U-boat con in motion, a sting which ultimately resulted in the capture of Vincent Adler and the Mansfeld brothers. And just like then, Rolf and Klaus were on Peter's mind.

"Diana received a comment to her latest Arkham Files story," he told Neal.

"For _Sands of Abydos_?" Neal smiled. "Was it from Henry? Some snarky comment that he hoped I'd enjoy my time in Cairo with Alex? El told me about his suspicions."

"I wish it was something that lighthearted. But who knows? Perhaps it is."

Neal's expression grew serious as he stopped in his tracks. "You better tell me about it."

They were on a street bordering the Arno River. A medieval stone bridge surmounted by a row of shops was in front of them. As good a place as any for the warning. "Diana received it on Christmas Eve. The comment was in code."

Neal's eyes narrowed. "Rolf sent a coded message last spring."

"It's the same code. Travis was able to decrypt it immediately. The message this time was 'Miss me?' It was posted by a guest with no user name attached."

"I thought Rolf didn't have access to a computer."

"He doesn't. I double-checked with the Hungarians. But he is allowed visitors, and, of course, he's permitted to talk with his lawyer."

"Have the authorities sorted out where Rolf will be tried first?"

Peter nodded. "He'll be flown to New York in a few days where he'll be prosecuted for kidnapping."

"Then the message may refer to the transfer," Neal said. "He could simply be trying to mess with our heads."

"That has the highest probability," Peter confirmed, "but we can't overlook the other possibilities."

"One being that he has an accomplice. If that's true . . . " Neal paused a moment and took a breath. "You're using his handle on the dark web."

"There's no need to overwork the issue. The message was short. Rolf could have passed it on to anyone to transmit. They wouldn't need to understand the code."

Neal nodded absently, his eyes flicking across the Arno. "You remember last Christmas Rolf left an origami on the Christmas tree at the Natural History Museum. This could be something similar—his way of grabbing a sliver of attention."

"I hope that's all it means. I haven't told El yet but I intend to. You may wish to tell Sara. Mozzie and Henry should be informed as well."

"Richard and Aidan, too. Anyone who was involved with the con could be a target." Neal took a breath. "When Rolf manipulated us last year, his aim wasn't revenge, although for a long while we worried that was the case. Now there are plenty of reasons he could have us in his crosshairs."

"That's Tricia's concern as well. She's kept herself listed as Rolf's profiler and has already been contacted. Rolf must hold us responsible for his capture."

"And perhaps for souring his relationship with his brother."

"I assume you haven't noticed anything suspicious?"

Neal looked over at him, a shadow of a smile flitting across his lips, but it didn't extend to his eyes. "Messages from Klaus? No. And I haven't received a leopard origami. If anything happens, I'll let you know immediately." He resumed walking. "I'm glad Diana didn't stop writing the stories. Rolf couldn't resist tweaking us. I don't imagine that's changed."

"No, he feeds off manipulating others. The stories are a bait that we may be able to take advantage of again." Peter switched the subject to the upcoming sting, but he knew both of them would keep pondering the significance of that message in the back of their minds.

In comparison, the present case was much more straightforward. The plan was a simple one. Their buyer, who was using the handle of Alighieri, requested they go to a church in a village northeast of Florence. Peter and Neal would both go. Peter would discuss the sale with someone—surely not a priest—in a confessional while Neal would present his forgery of the Da Vinci to authenticators who would be assembled in an office off the nave. Assuming the work was accepted, payment would be wired directly to Peter's account. Once the painting was exchanged, Claudia's tech team would trace its route. By the end of the day, they could either have secured a major haul or be wiping egg off their faces.

Mozzie had been ecstatic about the alias of the buyer since it was Dante's surname. He was convinced it proved the buyer's interest in the medieval poet. Claudia was maintaining a healthy skepticism, pointing out it could instead indicate nationalistic pride on the buyer's part. The two theories weren't mutually exclusive. They should soon know if either or both were right.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Neal waited patiently in the church nave while the buyer's experts scrutinized his painting. They'd set up their equipment in a side room and left the door open, not seeming to mind that he could view the proceedings. Neal had introduced himself as Nick Halden. The alias was known to the Mansfelds. If Rolf had mentioned him to the buyer, they'd be familiar with his real name, but he didn't want to appear aware of it. The men were thorough. They'd brought a portable lab and spectroscope to perform an analysis. These days, one couldn't be too careful. Forgeries were rampant, or so he'd been told.

While Neal cooled his heels, he studied the exquisite curved arches of the Romanesque church. The rustic simplicity of the walls accentuated the monumental vaulting overhead.

Peter was still inside the confessional. He was wearing his Steinar Wolff disguise, consisting of a wig and short beard. It was midmorning. Aside from their group, there were only a few elderly women in black dresses in the nave. Neal wondered how the buyer had made the arrangements. Was the priest given a large sum for church renovations in exchange for the use of the facility? Nardone's villa was in the church parish. He could be a major benefactor.

The authenticators murmured in low tones as they examined Neal's work, delicately passing probes over its surface. He was proud of that painting. He'd created it under duress while being held a prisoner, but Klaus had provided him with the finest grade of authentic materials. Peter was worried that they might simply take the painting and run but Neal wasn't. Nardone was a collector. He likely hoped this was the first of many lucrative transactions with Steinar Wolff.

"_Bene_," the chief authenticator said and motioned for Neal to approach. "We are satisfied," he added in heavily accented English. He placed the painting back in its protective case. The original could likely be sold at auction for $200 million. Even at the black market rate of 5 percent, that wasn't chump change. But Neal believed Nardone had no intention of selling it.

Mozzie would probably be the only one to receive any cash. His finder's fee if they recovered a manuscript or any genuine paintings would be substantial. He told Neal he planned to give most of the proceeds to Luchino as an anonymous donation to the Vatican library. He probably also thought it would provide an additional incentive for Luchino to notify him of any other rare treasures which needed rescuing.

Once their transaction was concluded and the proceeds wired to Steinar's bank account, Neal and Peter regrouped at the local police station which the Carabinieri were using for their command center.

Claudia delegated an officer to go to a nearby café to bring in sandwiches while Peter removed his disguise. For the search at the villa, Neal would wear his blond wig. Although Matthew St. John, Alicia's boyfriend, would soon be no longer, it wasn't necessary to retire an alias which he'd become quite fond of.

"The painting's arrived at the villa," an officer informed them. He'd been monitoring the GPS signal ever since Neal took it to the church. Neal translated the good news for Peter.

"The villa is only twenty minutes away," Claudia added, speaking in English for Peter's benefit. "We should give them time to conceal the painting. If Nardone is hiding other works, it's essential for them to be discovered at the same time. Multiple stolen works will make it more difficult for him to pretend to be an innocent buyer."

Neal didn't believe in jinxes but no sooner had the officer returned with lunch than the Italian Travis cursed at his computer. Never a good sign.

"The signal's disappeared!" the officer exclaimed in Italian, adding a hand gesture which Peter would be able to translate without any assistance.

Claudia frowned. "I hope that doesn't mean the tracker was discovered. Let's hope it's a malfunction of some sort."

"The tracker passed the scrutiny of the authenticators," Peter said, "but they may have used a bug detector at the villa. Even then, they might not have realized it was broadcasting a signal since the transmission was designed to mimic a cell phone."

"The treasure room where Nardone keeps his paintings could be insulated," Neal suggested. "The construction may block a signal."

Claudia took a slow breath. "Whatever the reason, our ability to discover the hiding spot has become even more challenging." She turned to Neal. "You said your attempt to find a secret room in the building plans was unsuccessful."

"That's true, but there were no plans for the wine cellar," he said, voicing Mozzie's favorite theory. "A cubbyhole could be hidden there."

"Another possibility is that Nardone had a hiding spot constructed without notifying the historical society," Peter noted. "A modern addition would have been more easily insulated from electronic signals."

She nodded. "We'll need to search the entire villa. Our agents are quite familiar with hidden treasure rooms. The town hall in Florence has several famous secret areas. If there's one in Nardone's villa, we'll find it. We'll also have electronic detectors. The signal could be too weak to be picked up in Florence, but once we're on-site, our chance of success will improve."

It better. Neal wasn't going home without the painting.

There was only one road that led to the villa, and it was already being monitored. So far no one had left the estate. Snow still carpeted the fields and vineyards. The Carmignano wines which Nardone's estate produced had an ancient heritage, going back at least to the fourteenth century. But Nardone was particularly respected for his grappa. One of the world's most potent brandies, Grappa was produced as a by-product of wine production. Many grappas had a higher alcohol content than cognac. Neal had learned under Klaus's tutelage to treat it with respect.

When they arrived at the estate in their black Carabinieri cars, Neal and Peter stood back, letting Claudia take the lead. This was Neal's first chance to see Nardone face-to-face. He was wearing a camel cashmere sweater with wool trousers. His hair was salted with gray. He appeared to be very much at ease with their unexpected appearance. His reaction to Claudia's explanation that they had evidence of a stolen painting was muted.

"I know nothing about a stolen painting, but as a lover of fine art, I'm appalled at your belief that one of my staff might be involved."

The man was no fool. Instead of feigning complete innocence, Nardone was already laying the groundwork to assign blame.

"Please, conduct your search," Nardone added, extending his arms with the palms up as if to signal he had nothing to hide. "Let me know if there's anything I can do to assist."

Neal murmured the translation to Peter as they stood to one side. Claudia had already divided the group into teams. Peter had requested that he and Neal be in the group to search the wine cellar.

A narrow flight of stone steps descended into the basement. Neal and Peter were accompanied by a female agent, Lidia Ricci, who spoke excellent English. Neal hoped the member of the household who accompanied them was not as fluent.

The cellar was for the villa's private use, but even so its size was impressive. The walls appeared to be carved out the bedrock under the villa. Under a low ceiling, lines of wine racks extended both along the walls and in the center of the room. The air was rich with the smell of tannin and grapes. The room was dimly lit with only one overhead light, but they'd all come equipped with flashlights.

Lidia ordered the staff member to wait on the steps during the search.

"Is there anything in particular we should look for?" she asked Peter in an undertone.

"With snow on the ground, it's possible damp footprints were left. Check with your flashlight before walking into the cellar."

Peter's hunch paid off as faint traces were evident leading from the stairs to one wall. There were enough scattered impressions to detect a round-trip had been made. Lidia called Claudia on her cell phone then photographed the evidence.

Neal was keeping a careful eye on the servant and detected a slight unease in his expression. His heart began to race at the thought they were so close.

When Claudia arrived, Neal trained a flashlight on the wall to see if he could detect any cracks, but didn't find any. He wasn't discouraged. The bottles extended several feet up the wall. They could easily conceal an opening.

Claudia held up a portable electronic device and scanned the area. "I'm not getting any readings."

"The switch may be hidden behind a bottle," Neal said. "The bottles are all coated with a layer of dust. Look for any which show smudges or other evidence of being touched." There were over a hundred bottles in that one area. If necessary, they'd remove each one, but hawk-eyed Peter spared them the trouble.

"Check this one," he said, not touching the bottle. "Just at the line where the foil capsule meets the glass." There was a faint smudge, perhaps indicative of someone having moved it.

"Let's see what's behind it," Claudia said, a smile breaking out. She pulled the bottle out from the rack to reveal a small wall switch. When she flicked it, an entire section of the wine rack slid sideways along a track to reveal a four-foot-high entrance into a secret room. Neal longed for Mozzie to be present. His hunch had paid off.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Peter and Neal spent the rest of the day with Claudia's agents. Peter found himself unable to stop smiling. What a Christmas present. The major treasure was the Caravaggio painting Neal had hoped to find. Stolen from a church, the artist had painted a nativity scene, leading Neal to quip higher powers may have helped in its recovery. The Lorenzo Lippi painting Neal had heard about was also present as well as several other works by Italian masters.

And there was a Dante manuscript. Was it an original? Neal made no predictions, but it was lavishly illustrated with drawings and appeared ancient. All in all, a haul well worth the trip to Florence.

Claudia and her team were ecstatic over what would surely be a major coup for them. Neal and Peter's names would be kept out of the press reports. The value of Steinar and Neal's partnership had been dramatically validated. When the news reached White Collar, the team would likely initiate a search for other opportunities.

Peter took a break to call John Hobhouse, the head of the Interpol art crimes task force, to report their results. He also told Neal to pick a suitably festive restaurant to celebrate their victory with El and Sara that evening.

It was dark by the time they left the Carabinieri office in the Palazzo Pitti.

"Let's walk back," Neal suggested. "How often do we have the opportunity to stroll the streets of Florence together?"

"If Claudia has her way, this is just the beginning." It was a sign of his elation that the thought of a return trip seemed remarkably palatable. Yes, Steinar and Neal were on a roll.

The streets were filled with a holiday crowd. As they approached the Arno, Peter paused to take in the view. "Hey, Neal, what's that building straight across from us?"

When Neal didn't answer, he turned around.

"Not a sound if you want to see your friend alive," someone whispered in heavily accented English while jabbing a gun in his back. Peter found himself quickly surrounded by three men.

A Fiat white cargo van was parked on the street. Peter was hustled inside the open side door. Dinner would be late.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Neal frowned when Peter narrowed his eyes at him. What was that supposed to mean? They were both gagged, sitting on the floor of a van rumbling through the Tuscany countryside with four guards watching over them, not to mention the driver in the front. Did Peter think Neal was going to cause a commotion? Not with all the firearms pointed at them.

One of the thugs he recognized from Nardone's estate. This must be payback, Mafia-style. The guards didn't bother wearing hoods. Not a good sign. They weren't planning that Neal and Peter would be in any condition to identify them.

Neal's hands were tied in front of him. Sure, he could get out of his zip ties, but then what? He wasn't suicidal. His only option was a waiting game till they had an opportunity.

And that moment came after they'd been driving for over an hour. They pulled off on the side of a country road, somewhere on a steep hillside. They'd been driving with the lights on in the interior. The driver ordered the guards to get out the bottles. Neal watched uneasily as one of the men opened a box of . . . grappa. Were they stopping for happy hour? Decidedly the wrong ambiance.

One of the guards approached Neal and ripped off his cloth gag. Neal restrained himself from any smartass remarks till he understood what they were up to.

"Drink," the thug ordered while another rammed the bottle into Neal's mouth.

"No thanks," he said in Italian, jerking his mouth free.

"Then we shoot your friend now," the guy said calmly. "Are you sure you don't want a drink?" He jammed the bottle once more into Neal's mouth.

Neal took as much as he could then spat the liquid in the guy's face. The guns were a threat that they wouldn't use. They wanted them to appear drunk not murdered. But why? Were they planning to stage an accident?

The thug rammed the bottle back into his mouth while holding his jaw in place. Peter was getting the same treatment. It was impossible not to swallow, but Neal tried to let the liquid dribble out of the sides of his mouth. He continued to spit out as much he could. The ordeal didn't end till a sharp rap on the back of his head made everything go black.

"Neal, dammit, wake up!"

Before he could open his eyes, he was given a hard shove that sent him careening down a snow-covered hill. A tree loomed in front of him. Neal grabbed onto the trunk to break his descent. He heard the sounds of a car engine, snapping of tree branches, and screeches of metal. The noises slowly receded as Neal clung numbly to the tree. This probably wasn't the best place to go to sleep, but the world was spinning so fast, he didn't want to do anything else.

"You okay?" Peter demanded, his face popping into view next to the tree trunk.

"More or less." Neal squinted as Peter's face dissolved into multiple images. His head ached abominably, and he closed his eyes to keep the nausea at bay.

"What was that stuff they poured down us?" Peter slurred.

"Grappa," Neal said with a groan as he began remembering. He propped his back against his new best friend forever, Signor Tree. Why wasn't Peter rewarding him for that major accomplishment?

Peter sprawled next to him, breathing heavily.

"Any injuries?" Neal asked.

"Nope. I man'ged to jerk away. Faked bein' asleep."

Neal gingerly felt the back of his head. A goose egg was already forming.

"Are you bleeding?" Peter demanded.

"Nah, I'm too hardheaded."

"Lemme see."

Neal obediently turned his head even though that slight movement caused the trees to resume their dance around him. There was a full moon which provided a little light. He hissed as Peter prodded his scalp.

"The skin's not broken," Peter reported. Neal watched as he removed his necktie and placed a handful of snow on it. "This will help," he said, tying it over the lump.

"I could just lie on the snow," Neal offered. He should be cold but he wasn't. The grappa must still be heating him up. Score one for grappa.

"What happened after I passed out?" Neal asked after a few moments, resting the side of his head against the tree trunk.

"There was . . . a sedan parked next to us. They wanted to fake an 'cident. They put us in the car then rolled us off the side."

"You saved us."

"Someone had to. You were still knocked out. I kicked the door open and shoved you out."

Neal laid his head on Peter's shoulder. "My hero. Thank you. Can I go back to sleep now?"

"Sure thing. I will too."

Neal's eyes popped open. "Sara, El!"

Peter grunted.

"They'll be worried about us."

"We should let someone know."

"I think I have a phone." Neal's hands weren't working right. They never liked the cold. He didn't like the cold. Peter the polar bear was probably loving it, but Neal wasn't a penguin. No one had nicknamed him Baby Penguin as a kid. There was a reason for that. Why couldn't they have rolled him off a cliff in the summer?

"They took my phone," Peter said, fumbling in his jacket pockets. "Probably yours, as well."

Neal fished some more inside his jacket. "Nope. You really should let Mozzie customize your clothing."

Peter eyed the phone admiringly. "You knew to hid it?"

Neal started to shrug and quickly changed his mind. "It's second nature for undercover work. Ya never know." Luckily Sara was on speed dial. Marv'lous invention, speed dial.

"Neal! Where are you?" she asked. She sounded excited to hear from him.

"On a hill next to a tree." Not the best description, he realized, but his head was throbbing despite the ice. "We were 'ducted. Forced to drink way too much grappa." He could hear El's voice in the background. "Don't worry, I won't let Peter drive. He's okay, though. We both are."

"Don't ring off," Sara ordered. "El's calling Claudia."

"'Kay." Neal relaxed back against the tree. The women would take care of everything. By far the more capable sex. GPS was a wond'rful thing . . .

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

"Surely they sell pickles in Florence," Peter grumbled, taking another glug of coffee.

"Of course they do," El said soothingly. "By the time we've finished breakfast, the shops should be open. Sara and I will pick up all the necessary ingredients."

She was glad they could joke about the famous Burke pickle juice remedy for hangovers. Both men were in surprisingly good shape given the ordeal they'd experienced. They'd suffered some bruises and scrapes from the plunge down the hillside, but nothing that required a hospital stay. It easily could have been so much worse.

For once, she hadn't been by herself, stressing about what her husband had gotten into. Sara was with her and they'd forged a closer bond through mutual comforting as they waited for the police to go to the scene of the accident. When the men hadn't shown up at six o'clock as they'd promised, El only waited a half hour before calling Claudia. It had been a nerve-wracking ordeal till they heard from Neal.

She and Sara had met the men at the hospital where they were both given exams. Claudia was present to take their statements. The euphoria provided by the grappa quickly wore off. Both men were cold, bruised, and grumpy. Neal's head injury, although painful, was minor. After a CT scan, he was released with the standard cautionary page of symptoms to watch out for. Sara pounced on the list in full Nurse-Nightingale mode. Judging by the dark circles under her eyes in the morning, she'd probably monitored him throughout the night.

It was a great feeling to know that El now had someone with whom she could share nursemaid responsibilities. Peter was always cranky after drinking too much. Even the enticing breakfast buffet hadn't done much to improve his mood.

Neal, on the other hand, appeared to be in a blissful glow as Sara waited on him, tempting him with Italian pastries.

"I hope I'm not interrupting," a familiar voice said. El turned to smile a greeting at Claudia. Up to yesterday, she hadn't met her. Now she was a reassuring friend.

Neal got up and greeted her with quick brushing kisses on the cheek. El admired how adept he was. He'd been wise to advise Peter not to attempt the Italian greeting.

"Please join us for breakfast," he said, signaling to the waiter to bring over coffee while Peter retrieved another chair.

"Thank you," she said. "I've already eaten but I never say no to coffee. I'm leaving in a couple of hours and wanted to give you an update before I go." She paused while the waiter served her. "You both look well. I hope that's not simply a façade."

"We've both recovered thanks to your efficiency," Peter said. "By the time Neal started to complain of the cold, the police had arrived."

"Peter was too wasted on grappa to notice the frigid temperatures," Neal added. "The Mafia didn't realize they were being kind."

Claudia smiled at their banter. "We were able to locate the men who captured you based on your excellent descriptions. Although they haven't acknowledged any connection to Nardone, they have prior arrests and are suspected members of the Mafia. The attack was more sophisticated than you might have imagined. The car had been rented to Neal Caffrey."

Sara looked at Neal, dismay in her eyes. "They know your real name?"

"It's not a surprise," he said, giving her a sympathetic wince. "We suspected that Rolf Mansfeld may have bragged about the new person on his crew while keeping his own identity a secret. That stopover in Parma was planned with the assumption I was being tracked."

"I've informed Nardone that he will be viewed as an accomplice in any attempts to harm you and Peter," Claudia said. "He assured me that he knew nothing about the action. Nardone is smart. Now that he's on notice, I don't believe any further attempt will be made, but we would be glad to provide you with protection during the remainder of your stay."

"That won't be necessary," Peter said. "We'll be careful. We're leaving for Venice this evening and will keep your office informed of our itinerary."

"Have you found out anything more about the Dante manuscript?" Neal asked.

She nodded. "Although it's not an original, it is an extremely valuable copy. It was created in the fourteenth century not long after Dante wrote the _Divine Comedy_. It had been stolen two years ago from the Bodleian Library in Oxford. We've already contacted them about it."

After Claudia left, Sara asked, "How concerned should I be that the Mafia is aware who Neal is?" El observed that she addressed her question to Peter. She must have realized that Neal would attempt to paint a less troubling picture.

"I'm not happy about it either," Peter said, "but we expected it. Neal's skills are well-known, particularly in Europe. That was partly why the sting succeeded."

"Peter, you and El should know that Sara is aware of the Anastasia con," Neal said quietly. "She knows my family secrets. The present situation is simply an extension of that con. Rolf wanted to recruit me. We're acting as if he had."

El noticed Neal's eyes flicking around as he talked. They were alone in their section with no one around to overhear. Neal and Sara were ready to come out in the open about their relationship, but the cons Neal and Peter were in would continue, and that meant she and Sara would also be part of them.

When she and Peter were alone in their room, El asked him, "Neal's identity is known. How about yours?"

"We think Steinar Wolff is still a mystery. On the dark web, Jones uses Rolf's handle for transactions. The fact that the four of us are on vacation together could simply indicate how well Neal has conned us into believing that he's reformed. Rolf was declared dead several years ago. Most likely, none of his clients know who he really is."

"But you don't intend to continue this indefinitely, do you?"

He wrapped his arms around her. "No. We've already taken care of two of the names on the list. We can't overplay it without it becoming obvious what we're doing. In the meantime, I intend to give Steinar a vacation starting now. Sound good?"

She kissed him. "It does. I hope it lasts."

* * *

_Notes: Thank you for including my story in your holiday activities! I posted this chapter on Christmas Day and you'll find several packages under the blog's Christmas tree waiting to be unwrapped. The post is called "Packages under the 2019 Christmas Tree." Next week, I'll post the final chapter of Italian Masquerade on New Year's Eve for those of you who'd like to celebrate with Neal and his friends in Venice. _

_Blog: Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation__  
Chapter Visuals and Music: The Italian Masquerade board on the Caffrey Conversation Pinterest website_


	4. Harlequin's Serenade

**Chapter 4: Harlequin's Serenade**

**Over the Atlantic. Friday, December 30, 2005.**

Eric clinked his glass of beer against Henry's. "Do you always fly first class?"

Henry shrugged. "Sure, whenever it's available. I might as well put those frequent-flyer miles to good use."

For a guy who'd grown up in a modest blue-collar household, this was a heady lifestyle. Henry teased him he better get used to it. They'd boarded their flight that evening and would arrive in Venice midday on the thirtieth of December. The tickets they'd won as part of the prize package were in the economy cabin, but Henry quickly upgraded them. One of the many privileges of flying first class was that Henry didn't incur any penalties for changing their flights to Mumbai. They'd now leave from Venice for India on the second of January.

There was no need to upgrade the hotel. They'd been booked into the Hotel Danieli, a luxurious palace on the waterfront which dated back to the fourteenth century. It was as if the people who'd selected it knew Henry liked to be on the water.

When Eric showed Henry the location on the map and took him on a virtual tour of the hotel appointments, Henry joked that they'd have no difficulty in assuming their roles of Italian princes for the costume ball. As part of the package, Eric had received a gift certificate for two costumes at a local supplier. They'd been able to order their outfits in advance and were told the clothes would be waiting for them in their room.

Henry was gazing out the airplane window. Hopefully he wasn't wishing he was flying to Cairo instead. At first, Eric couldn't understand why Henry had latched onto that idea, but then he figured it out. In the latest Arkham Files story, Neal and Sara had spent New Year's Eve by the pyramids. Despite his claim he didn't read the fics, Henry apparently wanted to copy the story.

Henry had made a promise to be more open with Eric whenever he wasn't restricted by business confidentiality. Eric didn't expect a miraculous transformation. He realized he'd need to give Henry nudges, and this was one of those times. Henry prided himself on his analytical ability, but Eric was also no slouch in that department. He'd been waiting for the right moment. It was here.

"So, how long have you and El been conspiring on Diana's stories?" Eric asked, keeping his voice nonchalant.

Henry turned to stare at him. "You knew?"

He smiled. "It wasn't difficult to figure out. I've been reading them all along. When you were introduced as a character but you continued to claim you weren't reading them, I knew you were blowing smoke. The only plausible reason was that you were hiding an ulterior motive, and this seemed the most likely."

Henry winced. "I need to hire you for Win-Win. How'd you guess about El?"

"You'd once told me how she helped you on a prank you pulled on Neal. You needed someone in the writing group. She was the most likely choice." Eric gazed up at the bulkhead. "Then there was the time last week you murmured Sara's name in your sleep."

Henry groaned.

Eric smiled. "I'd hoped you were dreaming of a scheme and I don't have a rival to contend with."

"I think that was my conscience wanting me to tell you what's been going on." Henry paused for a moment. "The reason I've been holding off is because I'd hoped to have the situation resolved by now. But the solution appears to be more complicated than I realized."

"I'm not going anywhere for several hours, and I've already seen the in-flight movie. You want to tell me about it?"

And Henry did. Eric was dumbfounded to hear that he had been working on the scheme for close to two years—going back to the time when Sara was a member of Henry's team in Baltimore. The first missteps had been caused when she switched jobs, and ever since then, there had been one roadblock after another.

"First Neal was recovering from Rolf's mind games, then he was immersed in the U-boat con with no opportunity to date," Henry explained. "I took advantage of Sara being a member of the con to set up romantic moments guaranteed to spark flames, but nothing took. They made a joke out of everything." He took a swig of beer. "All those dates in Arkham Files? Neal stole my ideas and used them for Alex."

"Are you sure about that?"

"Positive. I wasn't devious enough at the beginning. After I arranged for both of them to work at the shelter for runaway kids, he realized what I was up to. Afterward, any time he was thrown together with Sara, he probably figured I was the cause whether or not it was true."

Eric didn't try to conceal his smile. "From what you told me, his suspicions are correct."

Henry acknowledged the accuracy of his comment with a careless shrug.

"Here's a thought out of left field. Why don't you talk to him about Sara?" Eric suggested. "Go ahead and explain why you think she's perfect for him."

"That would never work," Henry said, looking appalled. "He'd think I was meddling in his love life."

Eric stared at him, exasperated. "And aren't you? The two of you are quite a pair. You're trying to trick him while he's conning you, pretending to be Matthew for your benefit at that Japanese restaurant. You could have spared yourself a lot of grief by simply discussing Sara openly."

Henry grinned. "That's no fun."

Eric rolled his eyes. "We picked the wrong costumes. I should have picked Harlequin, the sly trickster, for you. I used to think that Degas forgery Neal made of Harlequin and Columbine was a perfect expression of Sara and his roles, but perhaps he meant it to be of you because of your efforts with Sara. I suspect we'll see Harlequin and Columbine costumes at the ball. You'll probably think they're Neal and Sara trying to trick you."

Henry's mouth dropped as he stared at him. "You're a genius!" he exclaimed and kissed him on the lips. "Why didn't I think of that earlier? Remind me in the future to use you as a sounding board for all my cons!" He gestured for the airline attendant. "Two glasses of champagne. We're celebrating."

The attendant smiled. "Coming right up, sir."

Eric laughed. "Mind clueing me in on my brilliance?"

"Neal and Sara are Harlequin and Columbine."

"I know that. That's what I just said."

"Hear me out. They've been playing me the entire time, pretending to date others while actually seeing each other. This trip is a setup."

"What?" Now it was Eric's time to have his mouth drop.

"Richard, Travis, and Aidan must be co-conspirators. Neal arranged for you to win the drawing to divert suspicion. He wants us to be at the ball because he and Sara will be there."

Eric frowned. "You've gone off the deep end into certifiable territory. How could Neal afford it? He can't be making that much at the FBI."

"I haven't figured that out yet. Mozzie could be in on it. The guy's made a killing off finder's fees and commissions this past year."

"Assuming for the moment you're right, why would they go to all the effort of having us there for New Year's Eve?"

"Because of Arkham Files. Do you remember what's supposed to take place on that date?"

"You mean the 'Mockingbird' challenge?"

"Exactly," Henry said smugly. "And who came up with the idea in the story?"

Eric thought a moment. "That goes back a ways. Wasn't it Sara? After Neal and Peter came back from Merope, she offered to learn the song as part of a scheme to win him over. Diana published the story right after Neal was kidnapped in California."

Henry nodded, looking pleased. "You got a good memory. El told me Sara gave the Arkham Round Table the idea. At the time, it seemed like a strange suggestion for Sara to make. But in hindsight, it makes much more sense. I bet it was the start of the con. She may have invented it to give Neal something lighthearted to think about. He was really lost in his head after Rolf tried to brainwash him." Henry snapped his fingers. "Arkham Neal suffered from the same problem in the Egyptian story. That can't be a coincidence. It's as if someone is planting the clues for me to find. That has to be Mozzie."

Could Henry possibly be right? He was having so much fun with the idea, Eric didn't point out any inconstancies. From his standpoint, he'd lucked into a winning situation. Henry was welcoming him as a full-fledged member into his con. If Neal and Sara were actually at the ball, Eric intended to pull Sara aside. They needed to form a strategy on how to maintain their sanity when the cousins devised yet another con.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

When Neal entered the hotel bar, Peter and Mozzie were already at a table waiting for him. They were staying at the Gritti Palace in Venice, an iconic luxury hotel filled with sumptuous antiques and conveniently located on the Grand Canal. The Longhi Bar was typical of the hotel's opulence with its sculpted mirrors, Murano glass lamps, and magnificent views of the canal. The color scheme was in shades of malachite with comfortable upholstered barrel chairs grouped around ornate gold tables. The setting was Art Nouveau meets Rococo elegance with more than a hint of St. Petersburg refinement.

"Sara will be down in a few minutes," Neal said. "When I left, she was conspiring with Janet on details for tomorrow night."

"Does Sara know about the paintings?" Peter asked.

"Not yet." Neal paused while the tuxedo-clad waiter took his drink order. Neal selected an espresso. Peter was also drinking coffee. Mozzie had ordered one of the Longhi's signature drinks, a Spritz. While the women were out shopping, Neal had taken Peter and Mozzie to see a painting he'd discovered in the Galleria dell'Accademia. It was an obscure work by the 19th-century Venetian artist Giacomo Favretto. The model in the painting appeared to be the witch Alcy Lancaster.

Peter exhaled. "I hadn't told El about the paintings you'd discovered earlier in the month which also included Alcy. It looks like the Clueless con isn't the only secret we should out."

"Tonight at dinner will be soon enough," Mozzie said. "Janet is touchy when it comes to witches. Simply because of a few bad eggs, we shouldn't condemn them all."

And she wasn't the only one. Now that Mozzie was a member of her Wicca coven, it was a sensitive subject for both of them. "And we have no evidence that Alcy's here now," Neal pointed out. "Or should I call her Astrena?"

"Let's stick with Alcy," Peter advised. "For all we know, she's one of Astrena's evil sisters. But there's no urgency. That's a nineteenth-century painting, not a recent photograph. The last sighting of Alcy was in Connecticut. When we get back, we'll alert the Winchesters."

Mozzie coughed. "About that . . . I already took care of it." When Peter turned to stare at him, he shrugged. "Just a little preventative measure. I don't want anything to spoil tomorrow night."

"Mozzie, I'm touched," Neal said.

"You'll be reassured to know there have been no reports of either Astrena or Alcy, but Dean did have news. He and Sam have been trying to locate the sword of Saint Mercurius, the sword which can supposedly kill the sisters. The Italian hunter who's been helping them is named Paolo. He has an idea where it might be—"

"Stop right there," Peter ordered. "You didn't reach out to them. They contacted you."

Mozzie knitted his eyebrows together. "Always so suspicious! For your information, I was the one who initiated the call."

"What about?" Neal asked. It couldn't have been just about the painting.

He took a slow breath. "I'd asked Luchino about the saint. This shouldn't be a surprise. You already knew I'd promised to help in the search. Luchino mentioned that there were a few Coptic monasteries scattered about Italy. Some of their archives have been incorporated into Catholic monasteries. A careful perusal might turn something up. Reason enough to prolong my stay in Italy. Neal might like to as well. His classes don't resume for another two weeks."

"But his work at the Bureau does, as does mine," Peter declared. "If you want to meet with the hunter, I can't stop you, but I won't join you in tramping through the countryside to look for an ancient sword."

"Were you able to reach Paolo?" Neal asked.

Mozzie shook his head. "He's not answering his phone and hasn't responded to my texts."

"He's probably away celebrating the winter holiday," Peter said. "And that's what we're supposed to be doing too. There'll be no more talk of hunters or witches."

Neal didn't say anything. He hoped Peter was right, but when one fought monsters for a living, there could be a hundred reasons why a hunter didn't answer and most of them weren't good.

"We have a more urgent matter to discuss," Peter said. "Is there any chance we'll bump into Henry and Eric tonight? Their plane touched down a few hours ago. The Clueless con has a little over twenty-four hours to run. Let's not blow it at the end."

Neal grinned at him, delighted to have him fully on board. To have his friends' participate in what had been a secret con for months was the best possible wrap-up.

"Rest easy, Suit," Mozzie assured him. "Alas, I don't have a _Candy Land_ board to demonstrate, but the players will not meet. The Club del Doge in our hotel is justly famous for its gastronomic elegance, and we will be dining there with Henry and Eric on New Year's Day. Tonight we're going to a place you may find more your style. It's a favorite restaurant of locals in a back alley away from the areas favored by tourists. There we can plot in secret."

"How did you find it?" Peter asked.

"You remember Raquel Laroque?" Neal asked. "She lives in Venice. She recommended it."

Peter arched an eyebrow. "What have you told Sara about Raquel?"

"Sara's known about Raquel for a while. She's even seen her from afar."

"That's right. She saw you at the Met when you and Raquel were conning Keller."

Neal nodded. "Sara was with Fiona when they chanced upon me kissing her. She's not likely to forget the incident."

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC **

Sara smiled at Neal sitting next to her at the restaurant and clasped his hand under the table. He was wearing his Matthew wig. She had Alicia's blond mop of curls on her head. Their fictitious friends were enjoying their final fling before New Year's. But the wigs would live on. Neal was keeping the Matthew St. John alias and Alicia Thornton could come in useful in her work as well.

The evening felt like a rehearsal party before their upcoming performance. The restaurant was a casual hole in the wall which lent an air of intrigue to their plotting. The management at La Bottega ai Promessi Sposi had seated them at a back table far away from the front door. Mozzie and Janet were sitting facing the entrance on the remote chance Henry and Eric entered.

"El, with the ostrich headdress I've designed, you'll be a standout in the crowd," Janet predicted.

"That's the idea," El said, smiling appreciatively. "We want Henry and Eric to identify us first."

Peter and El were going to the ball as French courtiers in elaborate white costumes which would have looked appropriate at Versailles. They'd both wear white make-up instead of masks. El's cheeks would be adorned with a couple of beauty patches.

"And what do you want them to think about Mozzie and me in our Harlequin and Columbine costumes?" Janet asked. "I'm so much shorter than Sara, they won't mistake me for her."

"Perhaps not," Mozzie said, "although many have commented on what a close resemblance I have to Neal's physique."

Either because of the mellow glow they were in from the excellence of the wine or the gratitude they all felt for Mozzie financing the trip, no one cracked a smile, least of all Sara.

"But just in case Henry misses the obvious," Mozzie added, "I planted clues in his bedroom which will undoubtedly divert his mind to the right track."

"Some of them are a little literary for Henry's tastes," Neal said, "but I'm counting on Eric to help him out. By the time dinner is announced, we want the unmasking to have occurred. I have no intention of missing out on the feast."

"What clues did you leave?" Peter asked.

"_Clue_ is the operative word," Mozzie said. "In the cabinet under the TV they'll find a collection of handpicked DVDs including _Clueless_, _Pride and Prejudice_, _The Scarlet Pimpernel_—"

"—as well as _Comedy of Errors_," Neal said. "Even if Henry isn't familiar with Shakespeare's plot of mistaken identities, he can't miss the meaning."

"We also included _West Side Story_ and _Romeo and Juliet_," Sara added, "to give them hints about Neal and my costumes."

"Peter and I are going to visit the art museums tomorrow," El said. "That should keep us away from Henry and Eric."

"We have additional security measures in place," Mozzie said. "In their room, they'll find complimentary tickets to a four-hour cruise of the islands in addition to a walking tour and gondola ride."

Would Henry take advantage of the gondola ride to serenade Eric? Neal thought he wouldn't be able to resist. Sara hoped they were as happy as she and Neal were. As the time for the unveiling grew near, she found a little nervousness mixed in with the excitement. How would Henry react to the knowledge he'd been conned? Would he wait at least a couple of months before retaliating?

**The Diziani Ball, December 31, 2005.**

"Wow," Eric murmured when he stepped inside the palace, and Henry seconded the sentiment. He'd thought he was prepared for the Baroque extravagance of the evening. He'd seen photos of past balls with the costumed guests and performers in the ornate surroundings of a Venetian palace, but this was beyond his imagining. Up to now, he'd felt his courtier outfit was a little over the top, especially during the short gondola ride to their destination, but he soon discovered many of the costumes were even more elaborate.

An orchestra was playing in the main salon, and the dance floor was already crowded. Dinner wouldn't be served for over an hour. Until then they were free to explore the main floor of the palace and partake of the appetizers and open bar. Somewhere in that throng of silk and satin costumes were Neal and Sara. How to find a trickster Harlequin and his Columbine might not be easy.

Eric's face with flushed with excitement. It made Henry doubly regret he hadn't included him in the conspiracy earlier. As he danced with Eric, his thoughts weren't on his brother but his partner.

"I spotted Elizabeth," Eric said. "We're not the only ones participating in the masquerade."

"Where?" Henry asked.

Eric spun him around. "The woman with the white ostrich headdress in a white gown that looks like something Marie-Antoinette would wear."

"I see her." Damn, Eric's eyes were sharp. Henry needed to have him along on more surveillance sessions. "And that man standing next to her with the white tricorn hat has to be Peter." Henry laughed aloud. "So they're a part of the con, after all!"

"Perhaps they were tricked into it like us," Eric suggested.

Henry shook his head after a moment's consideration. "Not likely. Remember, Peter provided cover for Sara and Neal's date at the Japanese restaurant. Peter might have kept it a secret from El till the last minute. Neal could have warned him about her."

Eric grinned. "And enlisted him to out-con the matchmakers? I'd say you've been checkmated."

"Not so fast. If I can identify their costumes before they reveal themselves, I'm calling it a draw."

Eric snorted. "You've been out-maneuvered. Relax and enjoy it. I know I am."

"I'll correct your fallacious reasoning later. First, you gotta help me find them. If Peter and El are in on it, Mozzie has to be here too."

"What do you think he'd be dressed as?"

"Who knows? This isn't the right crowd for his favorite Quark costume. Maybe we should focus on finding a Harlequin. That will be Neal. He should be easier to spot than Columbine." Harlequin was portrayed as wearing a multicolor checkered costume. There couldn't be many dudes willing to sport that outfit.

After several minutes, Eric pointed out a fellow in a gaudy red, green, blue, gold, and black blousy silk costume. "Is that supposed to be Harlequin? The pattern's not checkered, but it's bright enough."

"Whoever's wearing it is too short to be Neal," Henry said, shaking his head. "But that grin . . . " The fellow wasn't wearing a mask, but his face was painted white and a bright multicolor mask had been painted around his eyes. Henry laughed. "That's Mozzie!"

"I thought he wore glasses."

"He must be wearing contacts."

"Then that means the woman in navy and white is Janet," Eric said. "She's much too short to be Sara."

"I agree. Notice the butterfly painted on her face. A sure sign that's Mozzie's insect-loving sweetheart."

"So if they're Harlequin and Columbine, who are Neal and Sara?"

"They've been sending us clues . . . That _Clueless_ DVD, for one." When Henry found the movie in their room, he thought it was an odd choice. Then he saw Alicia Silverstone's name and the light dawned. He'd seen Neal and Alicia, whom he now knew was Sara at a showing of the movie _Pride and Prejudice_. Matthew Macfadyen played Darcy. How had he not realized it earlier? El had even suggested a scene in Arkham Files where Arkham Neal dressed as Darcy. That scene was included in the story which was posted shortly before Sara first mentioned Matthew. Neal must have decided to toss the scene right in their faces. And Henry had fallen for it. Now it was payback time but so far Henry hadn't found any costumes for Lizzie and Darcy. Neal must have thought that would have been too obvious.

"Do you remember the names of any of the other movies in the cabinet?" he asked Eric.

"There were quite a few. Some were in Italian. Suspense thrillers, a few classics . . . I remember _The Scarlet Pimpernel_. That may have been a clue for Peter and El."

"It could be for Sara as well. She often wears red clothes." Henry stopped short. "Wasn't _West Side Story _in the mix? Neal lives on the West Side."

Eric smiled. "And it's a modern version of _Romeo and Juliet_. It would be fitting for Neal and Sara to portray Italian lovers." He glanced around the room. "Figuring out which costumes are supposed to be Romeo and Juliet won't be easy, though."

"We'll find them," Henry said, confident the end game was at hand. "You keep watch on Mozzie and Janet. I'll monitor the Burkes. One of the couples is bound to approach them."

A good theory, but with disappointing results. Not that he was upset. The waiters kept providing them with additional champagne and snacks.

"How about that couple?" Eric asked, with a nod toward a pair on the dance floor.

"What makes you think they're Romeo and Juliet?"

He shrugged. "She's in red. You said Sara likes that color. Their heights and body types seem about right."

Henry stared at the couple. He might recognize Neal's gait, although conceivably he'd disguise it.

"Should we approach them?" Eric asked.

"They're walking away. Let's follow them."

The couple strolled to the back of the salon with Henry and Eric staying a discreet distance behind them. Suddenly the mystery pair ducked behind the orchestra and disappeared.

"You're not vanishing on me this time," Henry muttered, remembering how Neal and Sara had tricked him at Riffs. He grabbed Eric's arm. "They must have gone into that corridor."

When they entered it, there was no one in sight. Unmarked doors lined the passageway, but there were sounds and laughter up ahead. Henry and Eric walked out into a courtyard. They were surrounded on all sides by the four-storied palace. French doors led out to overhanging balconies.

Several of the patrons were standing or sitting on benches with their drinks. Suddenly the suspected Romeo sauntered into the center of the courtyard, strumming a guitar. The jig was up when he began singing. Henry would recognize Neal's voice anywhere and the song was Mark Knopfler's "Romeo and Juliet."

Henry and Eric stood back to listen. When Neal was about halfway finished, Sara—for who else could she be?—appeared on a second-story balcony to listen.

"Neal's as much as romantic as you are," Eric murmured in his ear. "Sara and I are both very lucky."

Henry just nodded and tightened his grip on Eric's hand. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the other conspirators had joined them in the courtyard.

When the song ended, Henry was ready to move forward, but Neal quickly started to play another tune, and Sara launched into a rendition of "Mockingbird," a nod to the New Year's Eve challenge in Arkham Files. Neal sang the second verse, and they sang the third together.

At that point, Henry couldn't hold himself back. As far he was concerned, they both won.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

After the serenade, everyone adjourned to the dining room on the second floor for the banquet and those who were wearing masks removed them. Neal felt as if he were a Renaissance prince with his princess beside him. Their round table held eight. The cuisine was delicious but Neal took little heed of it. They spent dinner toasting their companions for making this moment possible.

Henry insisted on a detailed account of the Clueless con in its many various stages. Sara and Neal gladly provided the history, going back to when Sara first offered to learn "Mockingbird." Only one item was left off the discussion. Miss Scarlet and Professor Plum were keeping the _Clue_ game a secret for future scheming. Not that they had anything in mind. Simply protection for a rainy day.

Dinner ended an hour before the start of the fireworks. Many of the revelers took advantage of the time to dance, including the Burkes, Mozzie, and Janet.

Henry pulled up a chair to sit next to Neal. "Should we be concerned about those two?" he asked, nodding toward Eric and Sara who had moved to an empty table and were deep in conversation. "Are they plotting how to survive our games?"

Neal chuckled. "No worries. Sara enjoys the cons as much as I do." He glanced at Henry. "How about Eric? Does he think we're certifiable?"

"Probably. But I learned a valuable lesson during the flight to Venice. Eric has a natural talent for gamesmanship. With a few deft maneuvers, I'll be able to convert him easily."

Neal arched a brow. "You're already scheming?"

Henry shrugged. "After the successful conclusion of this one, I shouldn't rest on my laurels. You realize, of course, that I won."

"I do," Neal agreed, enjoying Henry's look of surprise that he didn't contradict him. "Although Sara and I hid the signs, it was because of the scenes you injected into Arkham Files and those romantic moments during the U-boat con, that we were able to date despite the turmoil. Arkham Neal helped me open up about my past to Sara."

"You deserve credit too," Henry said generously. "Thanks to your ability to keep it a secret from us, you were able to keep Sara hidden from the Mansfelds and that evil goddess who was plaguing you. Well played." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small gift-wrapped box. "I have a late Christmas present for you."

Neal broke into a laugh when he pulled out a pewter dragon keyring. "This looks remarkably like the dragon keyring Arkham Henry gave Neal."

"Hey, it brought him luck. I hope it works for you too."

"Thanks, bro. It already is." Neal reached inside his jacket and retrieved a small box of his own. "This is for you."

"It's not . . .?" Henry asked, grinning like a kid.

Neal shrugged. "It's appropriate."

The sterling silver ring looked like it was meant to be on his finger. Henry slipped it on and held up his hand to admire the effect.

"Mozzie found it for me," Neal said. "It comes with an invitation to come out of the closet. It's no longer necessary to transmit your ideas to the writing group via third parties."

Henry chuckled sheepishly. "They'll need my guidance to do justice to Arkham Henry."

"Yes, they will."

Henry fell silent for a moment. "Speaking of coming out, you and Sara are as well. Any concerns?"

Neal could have deflected, but he was glad he could confide in Henry once more. "A few." He studied his fingers. Were there more than ten? "Sara isn't worried about my baggage, but I am."

Henry nodded. He was wise to not try to dissuade him. "And now that you two will be seen in public, she may fall prey to unwanted scrutiny."

"You heard about the message Diana received?" Neal's past wasn't only a problem for Sara.

"Yeah, Jones called me." Henry shrugged. "Empty boasts, most likely."

"That's what Peter and Mozzie say too. Sara and El have both been adamant about being kept informed, and they need to be. I've been told in no uncertain terms that my lamentable tendency to keep them safely at a distance won't work anymore."

"But it isn't easy." Henry's eyes drifted over to Eric. "I've gotten the same lecture. A year ago I took off to South America, searching for Adler on my own. I don't need to tell you how Eric felt about my keeping him in the dark about the U-boat con. Here's an idea. We'll form a club, like alcoholics anonymous."

"CA?" Neal grinned. "Conspirators anonymous? Is this the twelve-step program?"

Henry shrugged. "We may need more. You feel yourself slipping or need reinforcement, give me a call."

"Deal, if you'll do the same." Neal laughed aloud. "You know what we're doing, right? Forming a secret conspiracy to keep ourselves from engaging in secret conspiracies?"

"That just goes to show how seriously messed up we are," Henry said with a smirk. "This will be the ultimate challenge."

"What are you two laughing about?" Sara asked, approaching them.

Neal bit back his initial impulse to misdirect as he stood up. Despite the temptation, he wasn't about to cheat on his New Year's resolution even if there were still a few minutes left in the old year. He gave her a kiss and said, "We promised to try to avoid driving each other crazy with secret conspiracies."

"I heard that," Eric said, walking up. "So Henry agreed too?"

"We'll give it a shot," Henry confirmed. "You'll have to let us know how well we do."

"We'll toast your resolution at New Year's," Sara said. "It must be almost time for the fireworks. We should take our positions."

The palace had assigned places on the balconies and waterfront landing for everyone to stand. The four of them refilled their champagne glasses and joined the rest of their party on a third-floor terrace.

Sara slipped an arm around him. "Are you ready for 2006?"

"I am. Let's kick off the dust of 2005 and leave our unhappy ghosts behind."

As fireworks exploded over the canals of Venice, transforming the night sky into a dazzling spectacle of colors, Neal embraced his princess. The future had never looked brighter.

* * *

_Notes: Happy New Year, everyone, and thank you for reading! Do you wish the story would continue? Then I hope you'll like the New Year's lagniappe I prepared. Beginning on January 8, I'll post A Witch in Venice. As you can probably guess, the witch Alcy Lancaster makes a return appearance. The action resumes on New Year's Day. For those of you who'd like to refresh your memory about Alcy or haven't read my Crossed Lines stories, I've written an introductory post on our blog: "Destination: A Witch in Venice."_

_A few notes about this story: The phrase "protection for a rainy day" comes from the season 2 canon episode "Countermeasures." Elizabeth assisted Henry with a con in By the Book. Sara offered to sing "Mockingbird" in Cinereous Skies. It was also referenced in Nocturne in Black and Gold. The green lantern ring and dragon keyring are from Time Crystals._

_Many thanks to Penna for acting as beta reviewer and co-conspirator. She's also prepared a festive gift for you. Her Holiday Letters vignette will be posted around New Year's._

_Chapter Visuals and Music: The Italian Masquerade board on the Caffrey Conversation Pinterest website__  
__Blog: Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation__  
__Twitter: __silbrith_


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